It's Not a Wonderful Life Yet
by Demosthenes23
Summary: My take on Brackenreid's (and to a lesser extent Murdoch's) life before the events of S1. Inspired by Nordique's version of events for Jilliam.
1. Beginnings

He wasn't sure why he felt so nervous. It wasn't like he had never travelled before. In fact, he had been all over the empire fighting through the various campaigns that arose. Some of those battles had been truly terrifying but he had always managed to keep calm and carry on, and as a result, he never lost his head; literally. Somehow this was more frightening. Going all the way overseas to a completely different continent was the equivalence of going to Mars. With one exception. It would be like _he_ was the martian invading foreign territory, rather than the other way around. And people didn't take too kindly to invasions of any sort, even if he was only going to be stationed in Canada as a representative of the Queen mothers people, and not actually fighting anyone.

In other words, he was foreseeing his doom even before anything had happened. Maybe his only real problem was that his mentality had been twisted and deformed from everything he had experienced on the battle fields. After all, he had watched a lot of good men die agonizing deaths; had even been the cause of many. Those kinds of experiences were bound to leave a permanent mark on ones psyche, some deeper than others. The only way that he knew how to effectively cope with such torments was to drink himself into oblivion every night, as a way to prevent the nightmares. However, this night he had opted to not drink anything and simply not go to sleep at all. He wanted to have all his wits about him when they landed.

Leaning against the boats railing, he looked out across the horizon and was just able to discern the outline of a land form in the early morning gloom. It wouldn't be long now before they finally arrived. The only way in which this made him happy was that he wouldn't have to feel sea sick anymore (the alcohol had only helped to a certain extent). He had never been much of a sailor and therefore the ocean was not kind to him. Especially not for the week and a half it took to get over here.

Suddenly someone startled him by speaking directly beside him. He hadn't noticed their arrival at all. He wondered how he could have missed that.

"What are ye doin' up so early mate? Ain't you usually dead as a doornail until mid afternoon?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Brackenreid to the ships captain.

"Ah," said the weathered man shaking his head knowledgeably, "ye got them jitters do ye?"

Brackenreid didn't respond and simply continued to stare out across the Atlantic Ocean.

"Ye'll be fine, Thomas," said the man patting him on the back. "Ye've got yer mates with ye and ye'll meet others that are already ashore. Ye won't be alone. So don't worry."

Not really, he thought. All of my mates are dead.

"I hope you're right Martin."

"O' course I am," he said smiling. "I'm always right."

* * *

A couple of hours later they were beginning to dock, Brackenreid keeping his composure and remaining stoic even though his stomach was in knots. The same couldn't be said about the other men. They were all hooting and hollering and clambering to get off the tin can. He wished he could join in but he couldn't muster the motivation to do so. Besides which, he was supposed to set an example for the rest of them.

When they did land, the others scrambled off the boat quickly leaving him behind. He was frozen to the spot and it had nothing to do with the coldness of the morning.

"What are you waiting for?" yelled one of the soldiers from the dock.

When Brackenreid didn't respond the man shrugged his shoulders and left. There was no sense in dragging out this affair any longer than it already had been. So he picked up his bag and followed suit.

* * *

There was a small garrison of Redcoats stationed near Halifax in a little town called Thornhill. This was where he was headed to right now. Even though this was several kilometres from where they docked, Brackenreid could hear the ruckus they were making a long time before he actually saw them. Shortly after he arrived there, he could hear the angry barking of the Colonel in charge.

"...despicable display I've ever witnessed in my ten years in the army! We are not here to party! We are here to represent her majesty the Queen! How do you think she would react if she saw you sorry lot behaving like animals?" No one spoke. "Well I'm waiting for an answer!"

Brackenreid passed by some white tents and could now see the commotion.

"Not well, sir!" shouted out a ballsy private, who had stepped forward from the main line.

"You're bloody well right she wouldn't! I don't want to _ever_ see such a display again! If I do, there will be severe consequences! Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" they all shouted, postures stiff, straight and unmoving.

The Colonel now noticed Brackenreid and rounded on him. "Where the bloody hell have you been, Major? You're supposed to keep this lot in toe! Maybe that promotion was a little premature after all!"

"It won't happen again, sir!" barked back Brackenreid, saluting the Colonel.

"You're damn right it won't! Just because we aren't at war with anyone, doesn't mean that heads can't roll!"

Then he stormed off into his tent and didn't appear again for hours. Brackenreid assumed they had interrupted his sleep and that's why he had been particularly unreasonable. He turned to face the men and they were all looking at him with thinly veiled amusement. No doubt they found it hilarious when the piss was taken out of him for a change.

He wasn't about to storm off himself, so he simply walked by the row of men slowly several times as he said, "I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking it's unfair that you can't have your fun. After all, you've been stuck on a boat with nothing to do for the past week and a half. You have my sympathies, you do. I felt your pain just as much as you did." Then switching into high gear he yelled in his usual brusk manner, "But too bad you bloody bastards! You better bloody well control yourselves better than you did on the boat! Yes, many of you were quite outstanding on the battlefield. And you should be proud of your accomplishments. But enough's enough! You've already had plenty of time to act like idiots! It's time to shape up men! I won't tolerate any defiance of that order! The first one to do so will have hell to pay! Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

* * *

He had now been in Nova Scotia for a month and was getting increasingly bored with nothing to do, which of course did little for his dismal spirits. Unbeknownst to him, things were about to change.

"Major Brackenreid, come here!" boomed Colonel Walker.

Brackenreid had been in the middle of a card game with some of the men but promptly dropped them and hurried over to him.

"Sir!" he said loudly, saluting.

"You're being transferred to one of our other locations. They're in desperate need of a new Major. The last one died of a heart attack a few days ago. It'll be good for them to have some younger blood over there."

"And where am I going, sir?"

"Toronto. I hear things are quite bustling over there. There's quite a lot to see and do. You should enjoy your time there. Which is fortunate as you're going to be there for awhile."

"When am I leaving, sir?"

"Tonight. You should arrive within a few days. A private will be there to escort you to the garrison."

Brackenreid saluted again and then left to go pack his bag. He hoped this change would be for the better and possibly help to lift his mood.

* * *

As he exited the train, an eager beaver of a soldier rapidly approached him and then saluted. His posture was impeccable and he looked to be on the point of breakage as he was so tightly wound. Brackenreid couldn't help but laugh internally at such a display.

"Enough of that," he said. "You'll do yourself an injury. Just take me to the camp."

"Sir, yes, sir!" bellowed the young man. Then he turned on his heel so sharply that Brackenreid was sure he could have cut glass.

_Was I ever like that? _

It was disturbing to him that he couldn't seem to remember that far back. How long had he been in the army anyways? It was now February of 1889. He had been drafted to duty in 1884 and was trained just in time to enter the battle of Tamai. The Sudanese had been slaughtered during that fight even though the British numbers were only half of theirs. No doubt the machine guns they had were a rather unfair advantage. But he wasn't going to complain too much. Why should he? He survived.

* * *

Half an hour later they had arrived at the Toronto encampment. It was situated in the woods some distance from any residences. This was likely because it was a much larger group of soldiers than the Nova Scotian one. The young man led him to the biggest tent there; presumably the headquarters for the camp.

He poked his head in and said, "Sir, the new Major is here!"

"Thank you private," said an unmistakeably upper crust accent. "You may go now."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Brackenreid pulled back the flap and entered the spacious accommodations. The man who had spoken was clearly a General based on his resplendent outfit. Brackenreid had been under the command of several different ones throughout his military career. They all had vastly different strategic approaches, but the one thing that never failed was the uncompromising air of authority that they continuously exuded. This man was no exception. It was as if he was born and bred to this role. Who knows? Maybe he had been.

"Reporting for duty, sir," said Brackenreid saluting.

"Do you know why you're here, Major Brackenreid?" asked the General as he continued to write a letter.

"To replace the previous Major, sir."

"Yes, but more to the point, what will your duties be?"

"Whatever you want them to be, sir."

"That's what I like to hear," he said as he placed the letter in an envelope and sealed it with his special stamp. "You'll go far here with that sort of attitude."

"Thank you, sir."

"Your first task will be to take your pick of the boys and train them up to be exceptional soldiers. I hear you're quite good at that."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Okay then Major, get to it."

"Right away, sir."

* * *

During one of his rare breaks, he decided to head into town so that he could explore it once again. He knew that he would only be able to see a fraction of what the city had to offer as it was such an enormous urban landscape, far larger than that of Halifax, and possibly even rivalled that of London. After wandering around for several hours and not finding anything to suit his fancy, he invariably ended up in one of the pubs, like he always did. This one was the furthest away from the camp that he had ever been, he assumed that it was somewhere around the centre of the city.

Since he didn't have to watch himself like he normally did at the garrison, he found that he was letting himself overindulge in the brew. And as a result his judgement was quickly becoming impaired. So when he thought another man was giving him funny looks he took extreme offence.

"What are you looking at, you bastard?" he asked drunkenly. "Haven't you ever seen red hair before? I'm just as good as you! You can't tell me otherwise!"

The man looked confused by the comments and said, "I don't want any trouble, sir."

"Well, it's too late for that, now isn't it?"

And before anyone could do anything he took a swing at the man. One punch was all it took to knock him over. He clattered to the ground and stared at Brackenreid uncomprehendingly. Brackenreid punched him a few more times before two younger men sprung into action. He tried to fight them as well but they were able to overpower him and eventually they managed to restrain him.

"Let me go, you bastards!" he yelled. "Do you know who I am?"

Instead of listening to him, they called the police, at the injured mans insistence. Within minutes constables were responding to the disturbance. One of which was a man who appeared to be in his late twenties. But it was a bit hard to tell with the big blue helmet he was wearing and his impaired perception of things.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked politely.

"This crazy man just attacked me for no reason!"

"Oh, like hell I did!" exclaimed Brackenreid. Then he made another mad effort to get loose but was unsuccessful.

"Major, if you refuse to control yourself, I'm afraid I'll have to take you in. I'm sure your commanding officer won't be too pleased about that."

That comment hit home and he immediately began mastering his emotions so that he was once again behaving like a gentleman, albeit a sloppy one.

"Thank you, Major." Turning to the man with the beginnings of a black eye, "Are you all right, sir? Would you like me to call for a doctor?"

"No, I'm not all right!" screamed the wounded man. "I want you to arrest this man for what he did to me!"

"As you wish, sir. Come along then," he said to both of them and signalling to the other constables to grab hold of Brackenreid. They shared a look but didn't say anything and proceeded to do as they were told. Clearly this one was their leader of sorts, even though they were all the same rank.

"You're going to regret this sunshine!"

"We'll see about that."

* * *

Back at the station house, Inspector Stockton came storming out of his office when he saw who was being brought in.

"Murdoch!" he barked. "What do you think you're doing?"

"This officer assaulted this man. He wants to press charges. I can't deny him that right."

"You can't just arrest military men for slight infractions! We have certain...understandings between us!"

"No one is above the law, sir."

"Dammit, Murdoch! Do you always have to make things so difficult?"

"I'm only doing my duty as a police officer," he said in a cool manner.

"You know, if you weren't so damn efficient, I would have fired you a long time ago!" Murdoch deigned to respond. "Go ahead and write this man up, but don't expect me to rescue you when you get into trouble for it!"

After Brackenreid had been interrogated and Murdoch was convinced of his guilt, he led him to the cells and locked him up, Brackenreid protesting all the while. A short while after that, a young woman burst into the holding area, the constable on duty tried to stop her but didn't want to harm her in any way so let her pass by.

"Are you the scoundrel responsible for hurting Percy?"

When Brackenreid laid eyes on her, all his anger at being imprisoned evaporated on the spot. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her shining brown hair was tied up elegantly and her brown eyes seemed to sparkle with a mischievous joy. The purple dress she wore showed off her womanly charms and only helped to solidify his attraction to her.

"Are you mute as well as dumb?"

"Not at all, love."

"Just because you're British doesn't give you the right to call me that!"

"Well, then, what _should_ I call you?"

"Like I'd tell you my name after what you did!"

"Have it your way, love."

_Why am I acting like this if I want her to like me? _He blamed his actions on the alcohol still coursing through his veins.

"Ooh, _fine_ then! I'll tell you my name if you tell me why you assaulted my fiance."

_Fianc__e__?_ His heart stopped instantly at that pronouncement but he answered nonetheless.

"He insulted me," he said lamely.

"I highly doubt that!" She made a face and said, "You army men disgust me!"

She turned to leave but he called out, "Wait, what's your name? A deals a deal!"

"Margaret, but it's Miss Taylor to you!"

She glared at him once more and stomped out of the room. He wished with all his might that the door would magically open and he could go after her. But he would have no such luck.


	2. Desperate Times

Twenty minutes later he was being released. General Johnson had come down personally to oversee the matter. Murdoch was trying to make him change his mind but he would have nothing of it.

"You will release my man now. Then you will expunge his record."

"But what about his punishment?" inquired Murdoch. "Surely you aren't going to let him get off Scot-free?"

"Of that you have nothing to worry about constable. He will be dealt with accordingly."

Murdoch must have realized that there was no point in arguing with the imposing man and motioned for the cell watcher to unlock the door.

"Come along Major," said General Johnson icily. "We have much to discuss."

Brackenreid glanced at Murdoch once more before he left the room. He had remained impassive throughout the whole ordeal; immobile like a Greek statue.

_He would have made a good soldier._ After thinking about that for a moment he knew that that was wrong. That constable was far too enquiring for his own good. He would always question the orders he was given. And right then, Brackenreid wished he could be something like that. He wished he could be free to make his own decisions, make his own judgement calls. In essence, he wished he had a different life.

Once the court martial had found him guilty of his crime, he was quickly demoted two ranks, down to the level of Lieutenant. He thought that this was a ridiculously harsh punishment for so small an error. At the same time, he had almost hoped that they would kick him out all together as he was tired of being in the army. But he only had to stick it out for a few more months until he would have the option to leave of his own accord without being labelled a deserter. So for now, he would make do the best that he could.

In some respects he liked this demotion. He had far fewer responsibilities and as a result was much less stressed out. That didn't stop him from drinking. He still needed his daily libations in order to cope with the long days. But he wasn't drinking as frequently as he used to. The thought of seeing Margaret again helped him to cope with his situation better than he would have thought possible, even if she was engaged to someone else. Just knowing that she existed and was nearby was enough for him. At least for the time being.

* * *

When he was finally permitted to go into the city again (with an escort this time), his first objective was to track her down. Even when he made assumptions as to where she must live, for instance within a short distance of station house two, this turned out to be surprisingly difficult. Apparently Taylor was a fairly common name over here and any of the Margaret's living on their own were not the right one. There wasn't much time left before he would be forced to return to camp. He was beginning to despair that he'd ever see her again when he struck gold.

After knocking at the residence of David Taylor, the correct Margaret answered the door. Before he could do anything, she slammed it in his face, almost breaking one of his fingers in the process. The two privates ordered to watch him sniggered aloud. But he paid them no mind.

Her feistiness was very refreshing and so he couldn't stop himself from knocking again.

"Go away!" she said loudly. "I have nothing to say to you!"

"I just wanted to apologize for my previous actions. I'd prefer to do it face to face if you don't mind."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to!"

"Well, I didn't know your fiance's full name so I couldn't very easily track him down."

"But naturally you weaselled my name out of me." She opened the door again, slowly and only then, just a crack. "If I let you in, do you promise to leave as soon as I tell you to?"

"You have my word."

"I'm not sure that means very much, but I see your friends there will keep you in line if you become unruly again."

Then she opened the door wide and let them pass through.

"Do you mind if we talk in private?" he asked.

"Oh I suppose," she said and then led him into the parlour room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she rounded on him and said, "_Well?_"

He wanted to take her hand as he apologized but thought better of it. "I'm very sorry for what I did to Percy. It was wrong of me and I shouldn't have hit him. I know it's no excuse but I was having a rough time of things and I let the drink go to my head. Can you forgive me?"

Margaret crossed her arms and said sternly, "I don't think so. Did you know that the doctor said he was lucky he didn't have permanent damage to his eye?"

Brackenreid grimaced and said solemnly, "Again, I'm very sorry for hitting him. It was a grievous error on my part. I promise it won't happen again."

"I should think not. Well, I guess that's that."

"Sorry?"

"You can go now. I don't see that there's anything else to say."

Half his brain wanted to stall his departure as long as possible and the other half struggled to do as he was told. The result being that he remained completely unmoving.

"I thought we had an agreement?" she said, starting to get angry again. "Do I have to call your friends in here?"

"No that won't be necessary, I'm going now."

He was about to turn the door knob when it turned of it's own accord. A portly middle aged man stood on the other side. He was quite menacing looking.

He took one look at the scene and said, "What's going on here, Margaret?"

"Nothing at all, father. This gentleman was just leaving."

"What have I told you about being alone with men? Have you no shame? What would your mother think if she were still alive? What would Percy think? For God sakes Margaret, you're going to marry him in a week!"

This statement pierced Brackenreid's heart to the core. He couldn't believe that she was going to be married to that whiny git in such a short time. But what could he really do about it?

"Oh, you're _so _old fashioned father! It's not like I was being indecent or anything! You need to learn to loosen up a bit!"

"Watch your tongue, young lady! As long as you still live under my roof, you'll do as you're told!"

Brackenreid could now see where she got all of her fire from. It was like watching two infernos of equal strength trying to over take the other. Impossible to do but captivating all the same.

"Well then, it's a good thing that I_ won't _be for very much longer!"

Then she stalked out of the room, and straight out of the house.

Mr. Taylor turned to Brackenreid and said waspishly, "You'd best leave now, before I call the cops! I don't care who you are!" He didn't need to be told twice. "And stay away from her!" he yelled after him. "Or there will be hell to pay!"

* * *

Back at the encampment, he found the days moving by faster than they had in a long time. But he was far from happy about this. Every day that went by was another day closer to losing her forever. He kept racking his brain for a solution to the problem but kept coming up empty handed. Short of murdering Percy, was there really any way to break them up before the big day? And even if he succeeded in breaking them up in a less violent manner, would she really thank him for it? Not likely, he thought.

Which brought him to another point. Why should he even attempt to postpone their wedding indefinitely? Margaret wasn't even interested in him and by all accounts, didn't even like him. There wasn't a future there with her in the end. Was he so selfish as to try and ruin things for her when the attraction was clearly very one sided?

Shakespeare had been great at writing love triangles. They were very intriguing and full of tension. That was all well and good when it was happening to fictional characters but when it was happening to him, he didn't particularly appreciate it. Unrequited love was the worst feeling in the world. And he was saying that after being shot and stabbed several times.

So the days continued to go by until there was only one left before she would marry. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but become frantic with anxiety. If nothing else, he had to see her one last time. He asked to go back into the city, without an escort, but the General was having nothing of it. Then he did something he had never before done in his life, to his everlasting shame, he begged the man.

"You don't understand, sir, this is a matter of great urgency!"

"Soldiers who put on such dreadful displays as you did, are not free to go and do as you please. The only way that I'd even consider letting you go again is with another escort."

"But you have to let me go by myself! You just have to! I'll do anything to change your mind! I'm begging you, sir!"

The General gave him a piercing stare for awhile and said, "Who is she?"

"What?" said Brackenreid, completely caught off guard.

"You heard me. I was a young chap myself once, full of foolish passions. Who is the woman that's got you so out of sorts?"

"Just someone I met recently, sir."

"She must be far more than that. What's the big rush to go see her?" Brackenreid mumbled something. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"She's getting married tomorrow, sir."

General Johnson remained unmoved. "And what do you intend to do about that unescorted? Are you planning on ruffing up the groom or threatening him in some way?" Brackenreid hung his head and didn't say anything. "Is that your idea of behaving like a proper British soldier? I'm sorry Lieutenant, but I can't allow you to make a further mockery of our establishment. You'll get over this. There are plenty of women out there just like her."

He knew in his heart that Johnson couldn't be more wrong. But there was no point in arguing with him anymore. He'd have to take matters into his own hands.

* * *

That night he staged a jail break. It was a fairly simple matter as there were only a few soldiers posted on guard duty at any one time. This was because they weren't actually at war with anyone and in danger of being attacked. Even still, he took his time sneaking away. He didn't want to take any unnecessary chances.

After he was off the encampment, he hurried into the city, wondering all the while what he was going to do once he arrived at his destination. He stood outside of her house for some time, gazing up at a window where he imagined her to be sleeping soundly behind, and oblivious to the strange looks he was getting from the passerby's. Soon he realized of his own accord that he was acting like a peeping Tom. The last thing he wanted was to get arrested again. So he went for a stroll, hoping to clear his head. Instead he found that with every step he moved away from her, his heart cracked a little more, until it became too painful to carry on. Collapsing onto a bench, he put his head in his hands. But he would never let himself cry for that was something only nancies did. At least that was what his father had taught him and he had never seen anything to the contrary. The only exception being at night time when soldiers thought no one else could hear their sorrow.

He sat there for what felt like forever but was probably only an hour, when he heard a ruckus. Forcing himself to look up, he saw a man and a woman in the distance. They were arm in arm and laughing gayly. As they got closer, he was able to make out their features a little better. One thing that stood out was the remnants of a black eye. Upon further inspection, Brackenreid could tell that the man was definitely Percy. But as to who the woman was, it was anyone's guess. She was clearly _not_ Margaret. It was always possible of course that she could be his cousin or sister or something like that but he didn't think it likely, not at this time of night. There was only one way to find out, so he started following them, happy that he had changed out of his regimentals and into something that blended in better with the night.

His prey continued on for a few minutes until they entered a familiar looking pub. It was the same one he had first met Percy in. At this moment he wasn't feeling bad at all about knocking him out. By the looks of things, it seemed like he deserved it. If anything, Brackenreid wished he _had_ caused permanent damage to his eye and then some.

They had taken a booth near the back where few others were. He assumed they wanted some privacy for what they were now doing. And what they were doing was simultaneously causing him to feel sick and boiling his blood. He hadn't felt such enraged nauseousness since the last time one of his mates died in his arms.

Percy was embracing the woman and had begun necking her rather fervently. Brackenreid lost all control over himself. All he could see was red. He wanted to inflict as much pain as humanly possible on such a disgusting creature. He began making his way over to them when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. As soon as she started speaking, Percy released his hold on the woman as if that would make everything all right.

"I didn't want to believe Susie when she said she saw you with some harlot a few days ago! But I had to know for sure, so I followed you tonight!" Then the tears started flowing and her voice broke, just like Brackenreid's heart at her distress. "How _could_ you? I thought you loved me!"

"I do love you," said the scoundrel, standing up and coming over to her. "But isn't a man allowed to indulge a bit before he ties the knot? It's nothing serious, Margaret, I'm just having some fun."

"You're absolutely revolting!" she shrieked. "I don't know what I ever saw in you!"

Then she slapped him hard in the face and ran out of there. Percy tried to follow her but Brackenreid blocked his path.

"Get out of my way!" It was then that Percy recognized him and the blood drained from his face. Not only was Brackenreid utterly menacing looking but no doubt the memory of their last encounter was not a fond one. "You!" he cried backing away from him. "You stay away from me! This doesn't concern you!"

"Oh I beg to differ, sunshine," said Brackenreid darkly, approaching him.

Percy kept backing away until he hit the wall. The other patrons were watching the goings on closely but weren't intervening on his behalf. Not this time.

"Stay away!" he wailed again.

Brackenreid raised a fist and prepared to strike. He cocked his arm back as far as it would go so that he could cause maximum damage. Then he let loose but the weaselly little twerp managed to dodge the blow by dropping to the ground.

"Get up and fight like a man!" ordered Brackenreid.

"No, I have no quarrel with you!"

"Well, I do, you bloody bastard!"

He grabbed him by his coat collar and lifted him to his feet again, the man wincing even before anything had happened to him. It was this pitiful display that stopped Brackenreid from hitting him. That and the fact that he had promised to never hit him again. Though considering the circumstances, he was sure she would understand.

Instead, he punched the wall beside Percy's head, cracking the wood panelled walls and making him scream.

Then he threw him to the ground roughly and said in a voice that rumbled like thunder, "I don't fight nancies but if you ever go near her again, I'll make an exception."

Brackenreid ignored all the looks he was getting and strode on out of there.


	3. The start of something grand

His only goal now was to find Margaret and make sure she was all right. And if needs be, he would happily be the one to comfort her. Brackenreid didn't expect that she had gone home. If she was anything like him, she'd want to be alone so she could work out her issues a fair bit before facing others. And if that was the case, he should then respect her right to privacy and let her be. But he just couldn't do that. It pained him more than words could say that she was out there somewhere crying her eyes out over such a pathetic travesty of a human being.

Unfortunately, he had no idea where she would have gone. He didn't know of any places she liked going to, so he was reduced to wandering around the area, looking for any sign of someone in distress. Eventually he spotted just such a person on a park bench. Or rather he heard them first. The lamp overhead was out so that only the moonlight was illuminating them. But even so, it was quite apparent to him that the person was indeed Margaret when he got closer. Though her head was in her hands, he could still see puffs of breath coming out through the cracks every time she cried out.

His feet crunched a bit on the snow and she yelled shakily, "Go away Percy! I never want to see your stupid face again!"

"Sorry, Miss Taylor, wrong bloke."

She looked up to give him a quizzical look and said in between sobs, "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Wait a minute," she said slowly, "were you in the pub too?"

"Yes, Miss Taylor."

Her eyes widened. "What did you do to Percy? Did you beat him up again?"

"No, Miss Taylor, I gave you my word that I wouldn't."

He could have been mistaken but it seemed to him that she looked disappointed by this statement. Her response all but confirmed his suspicions even though it was only one word.

"Oh."

Brackenreid smirked and said, "But he'll think twice about bothering you ever again."

Her eyes flashed gleefully for the smallest of instances and Brackenreid's smirk increased in size.

Then something else must have crossed her perturbed mind for she said, "But what were you doing at the pub? Are you stalking me?"

Brackenreid gave her a guilty look. "Not you, I was following that bastard. I wanted to see what he was up to with that woman."

"But why would that concern _you_ at all? And for that matter, why were you even _here_ at this time of night? Don't you have rules about leaving your camp?"

It shouldn't have surprised him that even in her current frame of mind, she would be able to ask all these awkward questions of him. But it did surprise him nonetheless.

Instead of answering her he said, "We should get you indoors somewhere warm. You'll catch cold if you stay out here much longer."

And he was quite right to say such a thing for her tears had begun to freeze to her face, giving her a bizarre icicle look. Luckily for him, she didn't bother questioning his evasion of the previous topic and just followed him out of there. Even with a winter coat on, she shivered. He assumed this was at least in part thanks to the dreadful shock she had received that night. So being the gentleman that he was, he took off his own coat and draped it around her shoulders. When she didn't object, he couldn't help but grin stupidly. They continued on this way until they reached her home. Then she turned to face him and for the first time since he met her, seemed to really take notice of him.

"Thank you," she said quietly almost timidly. "You didn't have to intervene on my behalf. You don't even know me. What made you do it?"

"He was being a bloody bastard, I couldn't let him get away with that. There's a certain way you treat a woman, and that wasn't it."

She smiled at that and then touched his cheek. Even though her fingers were icy cold, it felt like his whole face had just defrosted.

"You're sweet," she said. Then she handed back his coat and walked up the stairs to her residence. She turned around before entering and just stared at him for awhile, neither one breaking eye contact. "I never did ask but it's better late than never. What's your name?"

"Thomas Brackenreid, miss."

"Thomas," she echoed softly. "That's a nice name."

Then she went inside leaving Brackenreid feeling happier than he had in a very long time.

* * *

To make matters even better, he managed to sneak back into his tent without getting caught. And even though he only got a couple of hours of sleep before roll call in the morning, he felt incredibly refreshed and elated, like the weight of the world had finally been lifted from his shoulders. In fact, he was so content with the way things were going for him that he couldn't stop himself from smiling outwardly.

This caused the General to eye him suspiciously and say, "Nice night, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. I slept quite soundly."

"Is that so? How nice for you."

"Yes, I quite enjoyed it, sir."

General Johnson smiled then but there was no warmth behind his eyes. "Lieutenant, if I had any proof whatsoever that you had left your quarters during the middle of the night, you'd be demoted back down to private and then forced to shine the entire garrison's boots everyday until your hands were raw and bleeding from the effort. But as it is, I guess you're safe...for now."

Brackenreid was still smiling after the General finished his little threat. This seemed to aggravate him to no end.

"Wipe that smile off your face, soldier! You're in no position to be enjoying this!"

Brackenreid did as he was told but continued to smile on the inside.

The General made a face as if he knew what Brackenreid was doing. "You're dismissed. Get out of my sight!"

* * *

Brackenreid decided to wait awhile before attempting to go back into the city on his own for two reasons. One being that General Johnson was keeping a much closer watch on him than normal. So he wanted to wait until his personal security lessened a great deal. Preferably to when it no longer existed. Secondly, he wanted to give Margaret time to heal from all the emotional wounds she sustained on that fateful night. He doubted that she could ever fully do this but he was going to let her try anyways, on her own, like he would want to do it.

One day he found that the privates ordered to follow his every move were no longer there. Rather than a reduction of surveillance, there was simply none at all. This made him very suspicious, as if the General were trying to trick him into something. As a result he watched his surroundings for several more days, discreetly but like a hawk, and found that he had been right to be wary. There were still soldiers keeping tabs on him. While they were doing a good job of remaining hidden, or pretending to be preoccupied with other things, Brackenreid knew better. It had been necessary to develop certain skills in order to survive the war. They weren't going to catch him with his trousers down, so to speak, not with the level of ability that they possessed.

Finally, about three weeks after he had threatened Percy, he was sure that no one was watching him anymore. And so he stole into the night once more to see the woman of his dreams.

* * *

Once he arrived at her home, it only took him a moment to come up with a way to contact her without knocking on the door. He made a slushy snowball with the remnants of the last fall (and likely the last of the season as it was now the end of March) and threw it against her window. Or at least, the one he assumed was her window. A light went on and a figure came to the ledge. But it was not Margaret, it was her father.

_Oh bollocks!_

Vividly remembering their last encounter, he wasn't anxious to revisit it any time soon. So like a coward, he quickly got out of eyesight, feeling like a nancy for doing so. But he didn't want to waste this opportunity unnecessarily so he forced himself to do it. When he assumed that Mr. Taylor must have gone back to bed, he tried again, this time throwing it at the other second story window.

Nothing happened, so he tried once more. Still nothing happened. Either she was a very sound sleeper or else, she wasn't there. Regardless of the reason, it was going to make it very difficult to reach her. However, before he had a chance to get too bummed out, the door to the house opened. In the threshold stood a very peeved Mr. Taylor, who was quickly doing up the strings to his winter robe.

"What the hell are you doing?" Then after recognizing him. "What are _you_ doing here again?"

Brackenreid raised his hands, palms outward to chest level, as if to say, 'whoa there, buddy, calm down!' What he said aloud was, "I'm very sorry to disturb you, sir, but I was wondering if I could possibly see Margaret?" Even before he spoke, he knew this wasn't going to go well. But he had come all the way into town and thought it best to at least try to see her, however unlikely it was at this point.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here at this time of night and asking that kind of question!" he exclaimed. Brackenreid expected him to slam the door in his face then and there but instead he smiled mischievously. "Well, you're out of luck anyways. She's not here."

"Then where is she, sir?"

"Like I'd tell you that." Brackenreid didn't know what to say to that without being rude, so he didn't say anything at all.

Mr. Taylor continued to glare at him for a bit and then all of a sudden his expression softened, as if he just remembered something important. "It's Thomas, right?"

"Yes, sir," he said, wondering where this was going.

"She mentioned you a few times, you know, after that...incident." He made a disgusted face at the last word. Brackenreid got all tingly at the idea of this but again didn't say anything. "I suppose I wasn't supposed to know that as she had been confiding in one of her sisters at the time, since she wouldn't tell _me_ what had happened. Her own father!" He shook his head and then looked at Brackenreid again, this time with a slight smile. "I thank you for everything you did for her."

"It was nothing at all, sir. I'm just glad I could be of service."

Mr. Taylor gave him a contemplative look as if deciding whether he really wanted to tell him this next bit of information or not. "She's there now. At her sister Lucy's place. I guess she wanted some time away from here and all the bad memories and...him." Again, he made a disgusted face. "You can find her out in Pickering, on Bayly Street. It's the house with the green door."

"Thank you very much, sir."

"Don't make me regret telling you that," he said, the scowl returning.

"You have nothing to worry about, sir, I'll be a perfect gentleman."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Brackenreid gave him a confused look. "The last man to court her said the same thing."

He was glad that that was finally out in the open. Though really, what else would his intentions be with his daughter? "Well, I'm nothing like him, sir."

"Let's hope not." Then he turned around and closed the door, leaving Brackenreid with some planning to do.

* * *

There was no way Brackenreid could travel all the way to Pickering that same night. After returning to camp he got out a map of the area and was dismayed to learn that it was over twenty kilometres away! The only way Brackenreid could possibly get there within the night was if he took a horse, and even then, he wouldn't have long before he'd have to head back if he didn't want to be caught outside of his tent when he wasn't supposed to be.

It took a couple of days to arrange everything but then he was on his way. He had forgone a carriage as he'd be able to ride faster on the stallions back. This was something he was quite adept at as he frequently had had to do just such a thing during the many battles he had been in. As a matter of fact, galloping through the dark like this only served to bring back rather bad memories. It was all he could do to shake them off and focus on the task at hand. He was unfamiliar with much of the terrain and even though he kept to the roads most of the time, there was no telling what lay ahead. The last thing he wanted to do was trip his horse up and go careening head first to the ground. It wouldn't have been the first time such a thing had happened to him but he wasn't eager to relive the experience anytime soon. So he remained as vigilant as he could, occasionally slipping up to recall some horrid memory of his.

Eventually he read a sign for Pickering in the moonlight. It wouldn't be long now, he thought. And it's a good bloody thing too. My thighs are killing me!

Slowing down to a trot once he reached Bayly St., he squinted in the dim lighting cast by the lanterns for a green door amongst the rows of houses here. He silently thanked God that he wasn't colour blind like his old man had been. Then again, if he had been, all that blood on the battlefields wouldn't have sickened him quite so much.

Within a few minutes he spotted the green door and his heart leapt inside his chest. He dismounted with more difficulty than he would have liked and found that he was sore all over. His legs in particular were quite stiff and it took awhile before he could move properly. Then he tied the black beauty up to a nearby tree. It seemed quite content to get a break and began grazing with much gusto.

Brackenreid approached the quaint house and knocked loudly. Some lights went on almost immediately and a young, slim man opened the door, shotgun in hand. It was levelled at his face. Brackenreid was a bit surprised at this occurrence but also fairly used to it so he remained calm.

The man eyed Brackenreid with disdain and said, "What do you want?"

"I'm here to see Miss Taylor."

The man's eyes narrowed and he said, "Are you that Percy fellow? Because if you are, I have strict orders to get rid of you." His eyes flashed. "By any means necessary."

"No, I'm not that bloke, my name's Thomas."

"And why should I bel-"

"Thomas?" said a familiar voice. Margaret pushed past the man so that she was now standing directly in front of him. She looked lovely in her nightgown, even though it wasn't particularly flattering. No doubt it was just wonderful to see her again.

The man quickly lowered his weapon and said, "Margaret, do you know this man?"

"Yes, Simon, I do. It's all right, he's not the one you had to worry about."

Simon shrugged and said, "Well, he has horrible timing then. What kind of man shows up in the middle of the night if he isn't a trouble maker?"

"There are extenuating circumstances here, sir " replied Brackenreid. "It couldn't be avoided."

"Yeah, I bet there are," muttered Simon. Margaret nudged his side. "Well, you might as well come in then since you're here," he said graciously, like a proper host.

Simon led them into the living room and replaced the shotgun to the high ledge above the fireplace, far away from little prying hands. Which was necessary as there was a young toddler in the house who chose that exact moment to make his presence known.

"Jeremy!" scolded another woman who looked very similar to Margaret except that she was a few years older, "I told you to stay put!"

"But mama, I wanna see what's going on!" The little rascal ran out to his father and Simon scooped him into his arms. "Daddy, daddy, who is that man?" he said, pointing a finger at Brackenreid accusingly, as if he had done something wrong.

"This man wants to talk to your aunt Margaret for a bit. Let's get you back to sleep now son."

"But I don't wanna!" he exclaimed, an adorable frown crossing his features.

"Listen to your father, Jeremy," said Lucy. "It's time for beddy bye again."

"Oh all right," he groaned, severely disappointed at the turn of events.

Simon handed him over to his wife and she disappeared into a back room. Brackenreid didn't see her again throughout his entire stay.

"Do you mind if we have some privacy?" said Margaret to Simon.

He nodded once and left the room.

"Won't you have a seat?" she asked, gesturing to the cushioned chairs.

"I don't mind if I do."

They turned to face each other and said, "So..." almost simultaneously. They smiled at one another and Margaret tried again.

"While I welcome the visit, Thomas, I'm rather surprised to see you here. How on earth did you find me?"

"Your father."

She raised her eyebrows at that but didn't say anything. Then she smiled again and said coyly, "Well, now that you're here, what do you intend to do with me?"

He smiled at her brazen, yet joking manner. "I'm not really sure, Miss Taylor, I hadn't really thought about it." That was a downright lie of course. He'd thought countless times about taking her in his arms and feeling the warmth of her glorious body against his own. But that was not something he'd ever really do with her. At least, not yet.

"Please, call me Margaret from now on. I think you've definitely earned that honour by now."

"As you wish, Margaret." He savoured the sound of her name on his lips. It was utterly delicious, almost like what he imagined a kiss with her would be like. She seemed almost as pleased at hearing the word uttered.

"I guess it's time that we finally got to know one a bit better," she said. "After all, you're still virtually a stranger to me. All I know for sure is that you lurk in the shadows and that your hobby involves coming to the rescue of damsels in distress."

He smirked at that and said, "That was actually a pretty rare occurrence. I don't usually make a habit of such things."

"Oh," she said, "what made me so special then?"

"I can think of a few things," he said grinning.

"You know, you've much improved since our first meeting. I _hate_ drunken louts. If you desire to court me, you're going to have to do something about that."

"Then I will never drink again," he said, knowing as soon as he said it that he'd never be able to keep such a promise and hating himself for it.

"Oh no, that's not necessary. I'm not _that_ unreasonable. Just promise to never get quite as disgusting as you were that night."

Sighing internally at being relieved of such an insurmountable burden, he said, "I promise."

"I was wrong," she said. "I know something else about you." He looked at her inquiringly, getting lost in her beautiful brown eyes. "You never break your promises. That's quite an admirable trait in a man, or really anyone for that matter."

"Thank you," he said, coming back to his senses.

"And now, you really must tell me something more about yourself. I've been curious for the longest time."

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything."


	4. Too soon?

They talked late into the wee hours of the morning about all manner of things. Since Brackenreid had to omit a large portion of the last five years from his recollections, he mostly talked about his childhood growing up in Yorkshire and then how he worked as a dock labourer for most of his adult life (the latter being ironic as he always got dreadfully sea sick). He briefly mentioned how he had attempted to become a pugilist in his late teens but that dream had been crushed due to a serious head injury. The doctors told him that he couldn't participate in the sport anymore if he wanted to live for much longer. He stubbornly refused to believe them but his mother had talked him out of fighting. Annoyingly the army hadn't had any qualms about throwing him into dangerous situations. But he gathered that the two things were rather different, or maybe they just didn't care? Either way, he was still alive and he often times wondered if too much of a fuss had been made over his head injury way back when.

Margaret followed suit and talked about her childhood as well, and how her mother had died when she was just seven years old and how her two older sisters more or less raised her at that point as their father was always too busy with work. In those days he had been struggling to start up a plumbing business with his brothers. Then she talked about how she had wanted to go to college to study English but her father had been afraid for her safety and refused to let her go. She had been angry at him for a long time and for awhile they were estranged. Gradually they had gotten over their differences and now they functioned quite well together (apart of course from little misunderstandings, which was apparently what Brackenreid witnessed and been the cause of).

Their conversation had been so engrossing that he forgot to check the time and when he finally did found to his dismay that it was almost morning! There was virtually no way he was going to get back in time but he had to at least try. So excusing himself profusely, he rushed out of the house, jumped on the black beauty (silently praying that he was sufficiently rested) and charged into the thinning darkness faster than he had ever ridden before.

Nearing his destination (while the sun had begun to rise), the stallion began to falter. He had been so focused on getting back in time that he had neglected to make sure he wasn't pushing him too hard. But now he could see the copious amounts of foam that were collecting along his bridle and dripping down. On top of that, the horses eyes were bloodshot and unseeing. And sure enough, within a few seconds the stallion had almost come to a stand still. Brackenreid quickly got off and moments later the horse collapsed forward, never to move again.

Understandably he felt bad for the fellow, especially after everything he had done for him. But now was not the time for grieving. He still had to make it back to his tent. Sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, he plunged into the woods and towards the encampment. When he was closer, he slowed down, (equally from a desire to be stealthy as well as to catch his breath) creeping along the tent borders until he reached his own. Brackenreid was overjoyed to have made it back just as the sun was signalling roll call time.

He entered his quarters and came face to face with General Johnson. The General's eyes flashed with thinly veiled mirth and Brackenreid gulped nervously. He was about to speak when the General put out a hand to silence him. Then he left Brackenreid standing there with his mouth hanging open.

* * *

Needless to say, Brackenreid did _not_ have a good time of things for the next week. As threatened, he was again demoted, (this time to the lowest possible rank) and now forced to shine the men's boots for hours on end. When he finished with those, he was expected to clean each and every single rifle lying around. Within a few days his hands were sore and callused, and by the end of day five, they were raw and bleeding, just like the General had foreseen. But _still _he was ordered to keep on at it even though every motion caused a wave of agony throughout his poor digits.

Finally he got some relief. Margaret had come to see him. He didn't know how she talked her way on to the grounds but he didn't care. All that mattered was that she was there now. And somehow his hands didn't seem to throb as horribly anymore at the sight of her. As she approached, some of the men whistled and Brackenreid felt like ripping their throats out. For the first time in a long while, he wished he was still a Major, then he could have put them in their place without fear of repercussions. So in order to get away from those rascals, they removed themselves to his quarters. It was then that she noticed his battered hands.

"What happened, Thomas?" she asked concernedly as she reached for one of them.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said wincing as she stroked his hand gently.

She made a disgusted face and said, "The army is such a vile place. There is so little sense in fighting our fellow man." Then abruptly, "How much longer must you be forced to stay here?"

One of the things he had confided to her a week ago was that he longed to put that chapter of his life behind him and move on to bigger and better things. Or at least something he might enjoy more.

"Not much longer," he said. "Soon I'll be able to leave of my own free will."

Margaret contemplated that for a moment and then looked around the tent. "So this is where you call home. It's not much to look at."

"No, it's not but I don't mind. I haven't had much use for possessions these last five years. The one thing the war taught me is that _everything_ is expendable. You shouldn't place too much value on any one thing because you never know when you'll lose it."

"But that's a _horrible_ philosophy!" she exclaimed. "I can't imagine living my life that way. You'd never feel the need to care about _anything_!"

"That's pretty much the point, Margaret," he said with a sad smile. "Soldiers that are afraid to lose something precious to them are the ones who fear death the most. They're pretty useless on the battlefield, so the army tries to condition them. Once you learn to turn off your emotions, you have a much better chance of surviving. Of course, it's easier said than done. But once you turn them off, they're hard to turn on again."

She stared at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying. It seemed like she would say something indignantly but all she said quietly was, "And were _you_ successful at this task?"

It seemed to him that there was hidden meaning behind her words, like depending on how he answered, her desire to be with him would be affected. He couldn't really blame her, he was damaged goods after all. The war had seen to that quite thoroughly. He hadn't even been in a relationship for the past five years and he wondered if he still knew how. Then again, had he ever really known? Even before being drafted, he had never had much success with this courting business. He always seemed to say the wrong thing or offend people with his brash language. But he had been trying his best to behave himself with Margaret and so far it was paying off.

Maybe his previous problems all stemmed from a simple truth? Maybe those attractions hadn't been strong enough to force him to make an effort? As far as he could tell, he had never been in love. But this time was different. He was feeling all these things that he had never felt before. They always seemed to magnify ten fold when he was around her, so he was positive that she was the cause of them. But as to whether it was love he was experiencing, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he hated being away from her and when he was, she was all he could think of.

He could lie to her now and tell her what he thought she wanted to hear, but he was still repulsed at himself for the last time and knew he could never do that to her again.

"Yes, I was," Brackenreid said slowly and clearly. "That's what made me so good. That's how I survived for so long." A shadow appeared to flit across her face so he continued. "But I've recently learned how to feel things again, how to feel _good _things again." He looked directly into her eyes. "And you're a big part of that, Margaret."

As soon as he said that, her face erupted gleefully. However, this only lasted for the briefest of seconds and then she appeared as she always did when she was complacent. But that was all the time he needed to know that she wasn't planning on bolting out of there any time soon.

"So what do you do around here for fun?" she inquired. "Or are you not allowed to have any?"

Brackenreid smirked and was relieved that the conversation was now taking a lighter tone. "Well, we mostly play card games or some other form of betting game. And when we need more amusement than that, we go into town."

Margaret smiled at him and said, "I was just in town, it's dreadfully slow today. Let's play a game." Waggling a finger at him, "Don't let my looks deceive you, I'm really quite good at those sorts of things."

"Why am I not surprised?" he said grinning.

* * *

And so it was that Margaret stopped by every day and they would play games or else go for long strolls through the forest. It seemed to him that she intuitively knew that he wasn't allowed to go into the city himself anymore, as she had never mentioned going there themselves. He wasn't surprised at all that she realized this on her own. Why else would he have continuously shown up at her doorsteps in the dead of night?

No matter what they did, they were always talking. Brackenreid didn't think he had ever been so comfortable talking to another person, especially not a member of the opposite sex. And while he had been making an effort to control his language, he would occasionally slip up when he was particularly excited about the topic. The first time it happened, he expected her to get angry at him. Instead she just shook her head a little and pretended as if she hadn't heard. He wondered why she was okay with such salty language. It made him a little uncomfortable that she was because then it meant she had spent a lot of time around rather questionable fellows. Of course by this logic, he himself was one of these men and therefore he shouldn't have a problem with it. But he couldn't help it, he did.

This thought continued to gnaw at him until one day he snapped and blurted out, "Why the bloody hell don't you have a goddamn problem with my bad language?"

Margaret looked at him in a mildly disapproving manner and said calmly, "My uncles fought in the Fenian raids. They picked up a lot of bad habits during their time in the army. I was still so young when they came back that I guess it just sort of became a part of me. So even when I was old enough to understand that their language was bad, it didn't seem to bother me too much."

"But when we first met, you said army men disgust you."

"I was angry with you, Thomas."

"Let's hope that never happens again."

"I wouldn't bet on it, which as you know, I'm quite good at."

* * *

The big day had come at last. Brackenreid was allowed to leave the army. A few of the men came to see him off but for the most part, it was a very low-key affair. And he was perfectly fine with that, he was just happy to finally be leaving. Margaret met him on the outskirts of the encampment and together they walked away from that place, both hoping to never have to return.

That same night he sprung something unexpected on her. Indeed, it was surprising to himself for he hadn't planned on it at all. It just sort of happened. They were having dinner at a local restaurant and he had been drinking. Possibly he overdid it just a bit, he could never say for certain later on. But he was just so extraordinarily delighted with the goings on and the company that before he knew it, he found himself proposing to her!

"How about it Margaret? What do you bloody well say about marrying a bloke like me?"

She stared at him in apparent shock. He felt more shocked. They both sat there with slightly parted mouths but neither said a word. At first Brackenreid had felt foolish and wanted to take it back but then he realized that even though this hadn't been planned, it was the right time to do it. Maybe not with the words he used but he was never particularly elegant in that arena anyways, so as far as he was concerned, it didn't really matter. When she still didn't answer after ten seconds he began to doubt himself again. She must have seen a change come over his face for she spoke then.

"I-I'm not sure, Thomas" she breathed, driving a nail into his heart. "I need some time to think about it." She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. "You have to remember that it wasn't that long ago I was engaged to another man."

"Of course," he said brashly, trying to make it seem like it was nothing when in reality his soul was being crushed. "Take all the time you need, Margaret. I'm not going anywhere." She hesitatingly smiled at that and then he abruptly changed the topic, trying to keep his cool for the rest of the evening and mostly succeeding. But most likely she knew what was really going on in his head.

* * *

The next morning he awoke to knocking on his recently acquired apartment door (that was the one time he had been allowed into the city since his last great escape). It took him awhile to get there as he was very groggy from not sleeping well. In fact, he barely slept at all. All he had been able to think about was what he'd do with himself if she rejected him. He didn't want to go back into a bad way again but he wasn't sure that he was strong enough to stop himself without her supporting him.

Brackenreid desperately hoped that Margaret was on the other side. But it was not to be. He opened the door and found a little mousy man standing there with a big smile on his face. The man was holding a plant of some sort.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" he asked gruffly.

The man seemed taken aback by Brackenreid's appearance and manner but pushed on nonetheless. "Hello, good sir, I just wanted to welcome you into our little family here." Then he handed over the plant and Brackenreid begrudgingly took it. The man offered his hand and said, "I'm Tobias Wilch, pleased to meet you."

"Brackenreid," he said closing the door in his face before Tobias could catch him in further conversation. He was in no mood today to be annoyed by such a person. There was no telling what he might do to them. Better to be rude than to end up in jail again by smashing a pot into someone's skull. This time he wouldn't be getting bailed out.

He laid the plant on the kitchen table and then lay down again, wanting nothing more than to try and get some rest. But there was more knocking before he had a chance to even attempt this. He stormed over to the door and whipped it open. He was about to lay it on thick when he saw who it was.

"Margaret," he said forcing himself to calm down. She looked as bad as he felt.

"Bad time?" she asked giving him the once over and raising her eyebrows.

"Never for you," he said. "Please come in." And then realizing his state of dress, grabbed a blanket to cover himself with. He gestured to the only chair in the place and she sat down. Brackenreid sat on the edge of the bed. They awkwardly remained like that for a few seconds.

"So.." they both said simultaneously but neither one smiled this time.

"I was hoping you'd stop by," he said.

"It sure didn't seem like it by the looks of things."

"A misunderstanding, that's all."

"I see." Another awkward silence. "I came by today to discuss what happened last night." He nodded but didn't say anything so she continued. "I've given this a lot of thought over the past eight hours and I've come to a decision." Brackenreid held his breath, waiting for the outcome of this situation and preparing himself for the worst. "It might not have been the best timing ever but-" All of a sudden she broke into a massive smile- "I've decided to accept your offer, Thomas."

His face mirrored her own and he took her hand to kiss it, the most recent of a long line of them. Then he drew her close and they shared their first kiss. It was utterly exquisite and even more magical than he imagined it would be like. Parting, she had wrinkled her nose a bit and he wondered if his breath had been bad.

Seeing his mortified expression she said, "Your moustache is so ticklish." Then she laughed and he laughed along with her and they kissed again, this time more deeply and passionately. Brackenreid felt like everything was right with the world and he couldn't wait to find out what would happen next.


	5. The Punisher

A few days later they were celebrating the upcoming nuptials in Mr. Taylor's parlour. Margaret had invited some of her friends over, including Susie, who was the reason for her previous breakup, so naturally Brackenreid took to her quite warmly. The mood was so festive that even Margaret was having something to drink, which was the first time he had ever seen her do so. There was a good reason for it, she was _not_ very good at holding her alcohol. Within a single glass of wine she was more or less passed out on the couch. This put somewhat of a damper on the party and not too soon after, all her friends had decided to leave. Now it was just Mr. Taylor and Brackenreid sharing a tumbler of scotch.

Mr. Taylor had been rather surprised to learn about their engagement but seeing how happy his daughter was, knew better than to rain on their parade. However, there was one issue he wanted settled and now seemed as good a time as any.

"So Thomas," he said seriously, "what are you planning on doing with the rest of your life? What will your profession be?"

Brackenreid rubbed his neck and said, "I'm actually not too sure, sir."

Mr. Taylor narrowed his eyes. "If you're going to marry my daughter, you're going to need to be able to support her. Surely you've thought about this?

"Of course, sir. But like I said, I'm just not certain yet."

There was silence between them for a bit, except for the tiny slurping sounds emanating from their lips each tip they took a sip. "What do you say to becoming a plumber? You can join the family business if you want. I can teach you everything you need to know. You won't make an outstanding living but it'll be enough to live comfortably by."

Brackenreid was touched by such a thoughtful offer but just couldn't accept it. And in that instant, he knew why. It took forcing him into this situation to know what he truly wanted to do. With everything that had gone on, somehow he had forgotten about it.

"I thank you very much, sir, but that's not something I'm interested in." Mr. Taylor was about to say something but Brackenreid cut him off. "I think I've just realized what I _would_ like to do. I'd like to become a constable."

Mr. Taylor frowned and said loudly, "That is _not_ a very suitable profession for a family man, Thomas! It can be very dangerous!"

"With all due respect, sir," he said calmly, "I think I can handle it. After all, I did manage to survive the war for five years."

"That's completely different!" he yelled, jumping to his feet. "You knew who your enemy was then! Now you'll never know who's plotting your demise! Do you plan to leave my daughter a widow? Is that what you want?"

Now it was Brackenreid's turn to get angry. "It's my bloody decision! You can't stop me from living my goddamn life by making me feel guilty!"

"That's it! I want you-"

"Father, what's the matter?" asked a groggy Margaret from the couch. "Why are you yelling at Thomas?"

"I'll let _you_ tell her," Mr. Taylor muttered darkly at him.

Brackenreid went over to her and sat down beside her. She stared at him concernedly, wondering what in the world was the matter.

"Your father and I were discussing what my profession should be."

"And?" she said with a confused expression. "Why would this be cause for so much noise?"

"I said I wanted to become a constable."

Her eyes widened at the thought. "But surely you've had enough of that sort of lifestyle? I thought you wanted to do something completely different?"

"I did but at the same time, I think this is what I'm meant to do. I think this is the sort of thing that I've _always_ been good at and I'm not sure I can ever really do anything else."

"But how can you know that unless you try something else?" Her eyes lit up and she exclaimed, "I know! You can become a plumber like father!" Mr. Taylor snorted loudly. "What is it father? Why did you do that?"

"Thomas here does not wish to do such _trivial_ things with his time. And he certainly does not wish _my_ help in the matter. He'd rather try and be a _hero_."

"Is that true, Thomas? You refused my father's help?"

"Yes, Margaret, it's true."

"I see." There was an uncomfortable silence until she finally said something else. "Well, if that's what you have your heart set on, I'm not going to be the one to stop you."

Mr. Taylor looked at his daughter like she was insane. "You can't be serious Margaret! He'll get himself killed!"

"I wouldn't bet on it," she said forcefully. And that was the end of that matter.

* * *

And so it was that the very next day he applied to become a constable. It was a surprisingly simple matter, almost too easy, like there were almost no skill requirements needed to do this job. But then again, the desk clerk at station house three said there was to be a training session whenever the newest batch of enlistees were needed. This was a somewhat ominous announcement, he thought, as it implied that they were frequently needing new members to fill in for the newly departed. Maybe Mr. Taylor had been right to get so uppity with him after all? But Brackenreid was far too proud to ever admit such a thing to him and he sure as hell wasn't going to back down from his decision now.

As to why he chose station house three to enlist at, it was really quite simple. He had made a terrible first impression at station house two and figured they weren't likely to want to hire him over there. He was hoping that he didn't run in to anyone from there who might raise a stink about him being a police officer. But he knew it was likely going to happen sooner or later. And when it did, he just hoped he didn't lose his job. Though technically there was no real cause for concern, after all, he didn't actually have a criminal record. That was about the only thing he was grateful for concerning General Johnson.

Finally about two weeks later he was called in with the newest batch of recruits (a total of four). For the first part of the training, Brackenreid felt like he had been transported back to school. Inspector Rossel lectured them on what it meant to be a constable, about all of the responsibility one had to deal with on a daily basis, and how demanding this profession could be of your time. He hoped they weren't the sort of men who liked having a lot of free time to themselves because they weren't going to get it working here. He wouldn't tolerate slackers and anyone he felt wasn't performing up to par would be swiftly dismissed. In short, this man reminded Brackenreid a lot of his various army superiors and in some ways he liked the familiarity.

After the rather long winded speech, Rossel got Detective Watson to take over for him. Watson handed each of them a notepad and pencil and told them to guard these with their lives, as these were going to be their most important tools as police men. He explained all about how to interview people and take proper notes. And then they practised on each other, to see if they had followed his directions at all. Brackenreid had no problems but he was pretty sure that his partner was quite illiterate and would likely not make it past this stage. This was all but confirmed when the man didn't show up for the second half of training after a lunch break.

The rest of the day was spent learning basic riding skills, fighting skills (with and without the batons) and handgun knowledge (how to load and shoot the various different weapons in the armoury). Needless to say, Brackenreid excelled at all of this without even breaking a sweat. It got to the point where the other two younger men were basically asking for his help when it came to technique rather than the instructor. But Watson was a gracious man and only seemed to be amused by this rather than annoyed.

Before Brackenreid left, he asked him to stay behind. "Where did you serve in England?"

"How did you know, sir?" he said slightly taken aback.

"I'm a detective, Thomas. But really, it's pretty obvious. Where else would you have learned to fight like that? Those aren't regulation moves from Canada."

"I served all over the empire. And then I came over here as a representative of the Queen mother."

"From what part of England do you hail from? Yorkshire? Or maybe Durham?" This time he was more taken aback. Before he could say anything, Watson spoke again. "I have a very good ear for accents. Something I've always been blessed with. Not that it does me much good most of the time. Which is why I find you so intriguing. You're giving me a little practice. So was I near the mark or not?"

"Yes, sir. You were spot on the first time. I'm from Yorkshire."

"Ah, I knew I shouldn't have doubted myself. C'est la vie."

"Sorry?"

"It means, that's life, Thomas. You know, I think we're going to get along famously, what do you think?"

"I think you're right, sir." _At least I hope you are._

"Well, then, go get some rest, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. You're going to help me investigate a case that was never solved."

"On my first day, sir? Isn't that a little soon?"

"You and I both know you can handle it. Besides," he said smirking, "I might need a strong arm from time to time to take out the garbage."

* * *

For the next few days they pored over all the available evidence. This included crime scene photos, witness statements and autopsy results. And they came up empty handed; there was just simply not enough to incriminate any of the viable suspects. Rather than be discouraged, Watson decided to begin anew and conduct the interviews all over again. Brackenreid wasn't sure how this was going to help matters as it had been over a year since the murder of the old woman had occurred. But he watched from the interrogation window as Watson systematically went through anyone and everyone involved in the case. It was a gruelling process that took days and Brackenreid felt as exhausted as Watson looked. Finally someone slipped up, giving them a new lead that led to a young bloke by the name of Kevin Nider. He was extremely arrogant and got on Brackenreid's nerves. He was sure he was hiding something but no matter what Watson tried, he couldn't get him to talk.

Watson exited the interrogation room and said, "Have at him."

"Excuse me, sir?"

Watson smiled slightly and said, "I don't particularly approve of such methods but in this case, I think a good thumping would loosen up his tongue. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, get to it. I'm going to go take a bit of a stroll and stretch out my legs."

Brackenreid entered the room and Nider said, "Am I free to go now? I'm tired of answering these stupid questions over and over."

"I'm afraid not, sunshine. We still need to have one last conversation."

"Oh fine! But you better make it quick."

"Don't worry," said Brackenreid rolling up his sleeves as he approached him, "this shouldn't take long at all."

Needless to say, Brackenreid got the confession out of him. And from then on, whenever there was a less than forthcoming suspect, Brackenreid was the go to man to solve the issue. As a result, the lads nick named him The Punisher. As well, Watson presented him with a pair of black gloves after he noticed how bashed up his hands were getting from all the beatings he was dishing out. This was also quite helpful as Margaret had started questioning him about why his knuckles were always so bruised up. He didn't think she'd be very understanding of the situations he was forced to deal with but he also didn't want to lie to her, so he had simply not been answering her at all, instead he would just grunt a bit and leave the room. Doubtless she had come to her own conclusions when he realized that she had stopped asking him about it one day.

* * *

About a month later the Toronto constabulary hosted it's annual athletic tournament. This was only the seventh year since they had been instituted but even so, it was considered a great honour to win the games. As a result the competition could get quite fierce. A variety of games were played, including tennis, boxing, arm wrestling and tug of war. Brackenreid took out all opponents in the arm wrestling matches, giving station house three a sizeable lead over the others. When they asked him to be their boxing champion, he was rather hesitant to agree, but in the end he did.

It was only after lacing up his gloves that he noticed who his opponent was to be. It was that bloke who arrested him!

Murdoch stood at the ready as Brackenreid approached, not seeming to be surprised at all by the turn of events.

"Hello again, Thomas," said Murdoch without a trace of a smile. "Are you ready to be defeated?"

"I highly doubt that will be the case, William."

Murdoch didn't respond. Instead he moved in with surprising agility and succeeded in punching him in the gut. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

_This blokes stronger than he looks. I'm going to have to watch myself._

Now Murdoch smiled slightly for the first time as station house two cheered him on. Murdoch got several more blows on him before Brackenreid began to find his rhythm and all his old training came rushing back to the surface. Then the match started to become heated. For every hit Brackenreid landed, Murdoch always got in two more because he was just so bloody fast. They continued on this way for half an hour before both of them were utterly spent. It was anyone's guess as to who would land the knockout blow. Brackenreid was very unused to being in this kind of position so he made a last ditch effort to overcome him. Unfortunately that was exactly what Murdoch had been counting on. Brackenreid charged at him. A split second before he landed the blow, Murdoch evaded it like a jungle cat and landed two more quick blows to the head. Brackenreid was stunned but still standing and so Murdoch finished him off. He fell to the ground and passed out for several minutes. When he next awoke, Murdoch was hunched over him, checking his vital signs and making sure he hadn't killed him.

"Are you all right, Thomas?"

"I think so."

While he had been unconscious, Murdoch had removed both of their gloves so that he was able to offer Brackenreid a hand up, which he graciously accepted. Murdoch helped him over to the arm wrestling chairs so that he could sit down and get some rest.

"Where the bloody hell did you learn to fight like that?"

"It was one of my extracurricular activities as a teenager. I've kept up with it over the years, though I must say, I probably won't be able to for much longer. And what about you? I've never met such a worthy adversary."

"I also did a fair amount of boxing in my teens but I had to give it up due to injury."

"How unfortunate. I think you would have made a fine pugilist."

"Thank you, William." Changing the topic, he said, "So why weren't you surprised to see me here?"

"I heard tell of someone named The Punisher. Naturally this peeked my interest and I investigated further and discovered you were this person."

"Why didn't you try to get me fired? You're not exactly fond of me."

"While I didn't approve of your drunken display, I'm not going to condemn you for it for all eternity. Besides which, I only arrested you at the behest of the victim. I deal with many bar fights every week and I rarely arrest any one. If I did, the jail cells would be full to the brim and we wouldn't be able to hold the real criminals. Oh and don't worry about Inspector Stockton, he's not very good with faces."

"Yeah, I suppose if he was, he would have made some sort of comment by now." Murdoch nodded and then there was silence for a bit. "I'd like to thank you for something else."

"Oh?" said Murdoch raising an eyebrow.

"If you hadn't arrested me, I never would have met my fiancee."

"Really?" said Murdoch, raising both eyebrows. "You mean, you're engaged to that young woman who came down to the precinct?"

"Yes," he said smiling.

"Congratulations, Thomas," he said, offering his hand. Brackenreid took it firmly and they shook once.

All of a sudden an idea occurred to Brackenreid. "William, I'd like to invite you to our wedding."

"Why, I'd be delighted to come.

"Great! Well, I'll have to get Margaret to send you a formal invitation."

"I look forward to receiving it."

After Murdoch's stunning victory, station houses two and three were tied. It all came down to the tug of war game. Whoever won that would be this years champions and would get a free supply of petroleum jelly. Station house three had brute strength on its side but station house two had Murdoch and his brilliant mind. When the lads employed his strategies, the fight became pretty even and in the end, they were enough to win. They erupted into cheers of exultation.

"Better luck next year!" exclaimed one of the men from station house two. Brackenreid thought his name was Chester. "Actually never mind! You'll always be losers!"

This infuriated a constable named Malcolm and he flew at Chester. The inspectors started yelling at them and when that failed to work, Murdoch and Brackenreid decided to break it up themselves. Brackenreid got hit in the face and he heard a sickening crack. One of the bastards had broken his nose! The boxing match with Murdoch must have strained the bone there and this was the final straw to completely snapping it. As the blood poured forth, Brackenreid focused all his efforts on holding back the tears that had stubbornly sprung to the surface.

"Now look what you've done!" yelled Inspector Rossel. "I expect an apology from the both of you right this instant!"

"I'm real sorry Thomas!" cried Malcolm.

The other man simply grunted.

"I'm sorry, Chester," said Inspector Stockton, "what was that?"

"Sorry," he said grumpily.

While this had been going on, Murdoch had handed Brackenreid his handkerchief and he was now using it to stem the flow of blood. Luckily it was very absorbent and was more or less doing its job.

"If this ever happens again, Malcolm," said Rossel loudly, "I'll suspend you."

"That goes double for me," said Stockton. "I think, Chester, that you should give your winnings to Thomas over here, as recompense for breaking his nose. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chester begrudgingly went over to the box with the Vaseline and handed one of the containers to him. Then he sulked off, leaving all together. No one bothered to stop him. The rest of the men now shook hands to show that there was no hard feelings. Shortly after that the winning team decided to go celebrate at the cop bar nearby. And pretty soon the field had thinned out considerably so that only a few men remained.

"How are you fairing?" asked Murdoch.

"I've been better."

All of a sudden Watson was there and he was sharing a nodded greeting with Murdoch. "So Thomas, (he himself never used the nick name) I think after today's events, you deserve a day or two off. You're going to be utterly useless to me in your current condition."

"As you wish, sir," he said. Secretly he was relieved at this news for he felt like he could sleep for a year.

Watson nodded again and then left them alone.

"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you soon then. The wedding's in a couple of weeks."

"Yes, I guess so."

They shook hands once more and left the field in opposite directions.


	6. The Wedding

There was only one reason why the wedding needed to take place months after their engagement. And it was a very simple one; Brackenreid couldn't afford it until then. Yes, Mr. Taylor was paying for the majority of it as he was the father of the bride, but even so, Brackenreid still needed the money for a ring, in truth two rings. He had only a little saved up from his time in the army because most of it had been pissed away on the drinks that allowed him to keep his sanity. He wasn't about to let Margaret feel the shame of being officially engaged without a ring to show for it, (especially when it was his own fault for proposing out of the blue) so he put aside his pride and asked Mr. Taylor for a loan. The deal being that he'd pay him back before the wedding took place as he didn't want to be in anyone's debt at the beginning of his new life (being broke was another matter). Therefore Brackenreid had been taking as many over time shifts as he could in order to do this. As a result he had been seeing very little of Margaret since their engagement and this had put a sizeable strain on their relationship. But theirs was a strong bond and it wasn't about to be broken that easily. So they endured until Brackenreid could finally afford the wedding ring and pay back everything he owed.

In order to save on additional expenses, he had opted to wear his military garb in lieu of a tuxedo even though he hated the very sight of it. But Margaret had talked him out of this for that very reason. This was supposed to be a joyful occasion, there was no need to unnecessarily mar it. So instead, he had rented his formal attire for the special occasion.

With all the financial stresses behind them, the big day could finally take place. And it couldn't have happened on a more gorgeous July afternoon. It wasn't too hot, there was a gentle breeze playing across the parks finely mowed grass and the clouds were dispersed enough to allow brilliant blue patches to peek through. All in all, things were looking up.

Since neither of them were religious it made sense to host the wedding outdoors, so that's exactly what they did. A small portion of the park had been set up with plain wooden chairs for all of their guests. There were also a variety of flowers lining the inner sides of them, along the grassy aisle. The guests included Margaret's immediate family, as well as some more distantly related ones and of course all of her friends, of which, there were many. The less gracious of the invitees made some comments about having to come in for a wedding that had never occurred and wondering if this one would also suffer the same fate. Of course they were discrete with such things and Margaret never knew of them.

Not surprisingly, Brackenreid's guests were far fewer in number. There was no family for him to invite over here. And as for friends, well, there weren't too many of those either. He had never wanted to get close with anyone in the army after all his original mates died in the war, it was just too painful. So the only blokes left to invite were the ones from station house three and of course Murdoch. Mind you, many of them came with dates or their wives and children so it wasn't entirely men on that side. But even so, Brackenreid's side of the aisle was rather sparsely populated. It was a bit comic in relation to Margaret's side but at least everyone had the good grace not to openly point this out.

Once everyone was situated, the ceremony began. The hired quartet of musicians started playing the familiar wedding march song. Brackenreid stood poised at the end of the aisle awaiting all those to come forward. Margaret's sisters walked down, followed by Susie who was the maid of honour. Then came Murdoch, followed by Watson, though technically Brackenreid had decided that both would be his best man. Murdoch because he introduced him to Margaret and Watson because they had become very close over the past few months.

Now it was time for the main event. Mr. Taylor led a simply dressed Margaret down the aisle but to Brackenreid, she was absolutely stunning. If it were possible, she appeared even more exquisite to him than his first time seeing her. A goofy grin spread from ear to ear as she approached and she reciprocated it fully behind the veil.

Mr. Taylor handed over Margaret to Brackenreid, whispering, "Take care of her."

He nodded and said, "I'll do my very best, sir."

Arm in arm, they turned to face the minister, the music stopped and he began the process of uniting them heart and soul.

The old fashioned speaking minister reached the first milestone of the ceremony. "If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace." Crickets could literally be heard in the background and so he continued. "The rings please."

Watson and Susie came forward and handed them to him.

"Thomas Robert John Brackenreid, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," he responded solemnly. Then he took the ring from the minister and placed it on her finger above the engagement one. He could feel her hand trembling as he did so, almost as much as his own.

"Margaret Laura Taylor, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," she said just as gravely, sliding the ring on.

"I now pronounce ye man and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Brackenreid lifted up the veil and took her in his arms, both trembling happily all over, and kissed her slowly. The crowd started clapping and cheering and continued on even after they had finished. They thanked the minister and then arm and arm took their first steps as the Brackenreids.

The receiving line formed quickly and before he knew it, he was being poked and prodded by everyone on Margaret's side of the family. Eventually the torture was at an end and the festivities could commence.

If the weather had been bad, the reception would have been held somewhere else, but as it was, there was no need for that. So the chairs were systematically moved off to the sides to form a large circle.

Mr. Taylor got everyone's attention and then said, "May I present the Brackenreids."

The violinist (who happened to be a cousin of Margaret's) took this as a cue to begin playing a slow paced song and the Brackenreids had their first dance centre stage (or rather field) while the congregation looked on from the sidelines.

The two of them gazed at each other lovingly, neither one wanting to ruin the moment by saying something unnecessary. Everything that needed to be said was written all over their faces. All too soon, the song was over and everyone clapped again.

"You danced far better than I was expecting," Margaret said playfully. "I thought you'd have two left feet."

"Thank you ever so much for that vote of confidence Mrs. Brackenreid."

They shared a smiling look and then prepared to have their picture taken by the impatient photographer. Brackenreid wasn't sure what his problem was, after all Mr. Taylor was paying him handsomely to take quality pictures. Several more shots were taken with various other members of the family and friends and then everyone dispersed, scattering all over the place. Many made their way over to the refreshments tables and were now focused on that important task.

"It's all sorted out with the inspector," said Watson. "You'll have a week off for...personal reasons." He winked at the last.

"Thanks mate," said Brackenreid grinning.

"I hope you enjoy your honeymoon in Niagara," said Watson smiling.

Brackenreid looked at him confusedly. "What are you talking about? We're not going there. I can't afford to stay there for a whole week."

"Oh but I can."

Brackenreid raised his eyebrows. "I can't let you do that Sam!"

"And why not, Thomas?

"You've a baby on the way, that's why! You'll need all the money you can get your hands on!"

Watson waved his hand and said, "This was Kelly's idea in the first place. I knew you'd be stubborn about accepting such a generous offer but she insisted on it after you saved my life that time."

"I'd hardly call what I did as saving your life."

"Kelly doesn't see it that way. And neither do I. So are you going to disappoint an unpredictable pregnant woman or what? There's no telling what she might do to you if you refuse."

"Sam, you bastard. I don't know how I'll ever repay you but I will." They shook hands and that was the end of the matter. Watson left him to attend to his wife, who was eight months pregnant and having troubles getting out of her chair in order to get to the food.

Brackenreid saw Murdoch standing over by himself looking at something. When he got closer he realized he was staring at a woman standing under the shade of a tree.

"She's pretty isn't she?" said Brackenreid.

Murdoch was startled out of his reverie.

"Her name's Susie, right?"

"Yes. She's Margaret's best friend." Murdoch didn't respond. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

"Oh, that's really not necessary," he said absently, still gazing intently at her.

Brackenreid chuckled and said, "Come on William, you're going to go talk to her now."

"I don't-"

Brackenreid grabbed him by the arm and almost frog marched him over there.

"Thomas," she said as they approached, casting a curious glance at Murdoch. "And who might you be? We never seemed to get a chance to talk before during the rehearsal."

"William Murdoch of station house two," he said succinctly, if not a little nervously. And then he actually bowed to her!

_Bloody hell._

She raised her eyebrows and lifted her hand to her face to hide a smile. "Is that so? And how do you know Thomas?"

"I arrested him for assaulting a man. In fact, the man was-"

"William," interjected Brackenreid hastily, "you're _such_ a comedian! I don't know how you come up with this stuff!"

Apparently Murdoch was so nervous about this situation that he wasn't thinking clearly and saying and doing things that he shouldn't be.

Susie glanced at both of them for several seconds and then exclaimed, "Oh! Margaret told me about this!" Looking at Brackenreid she said, "So _you're_ the mystery man who knocked some sense into Percy that night!" She laughed for a bit. "No wonder she fell for you!"

Brackenreid was relieved by the turn of events and was grateful to Margaret for never having told anyone all the details to that dreadful night. But he had no idea if Susie would keep this information to herself.

"Can you keep this just between us, Susie?"

"Oh don't worry so much, Thomas. If Margaret didn't want anyone to know, I'm certainly not going to be the one to let the cat out of the bag."

"Thank you Susie." Brackenreid looked around and saw Margaret in desperate need of saving. "I'll leave you two to it."

He felt safe leaving Murdoch there now as he didn't have any other incriminating details to tell.

Murdoch looked stricken by this statement but didn't try to bolt out of there. Brackenreid laughed internally at the poor bloke. He could stare down heartless criminals on a daily basis without so much as batting an eye but was afraid to talk to a single frail woman by himself. But the only way he was going to get better at such things was if he practised. In the end, he was sure that he was doing Murdoch a favour.

Brackenreid approached the throng of adoring admirers and said, "Mrs. Brackenreid, would you care to dance?"

She mouthed a silent thank you and took his hand.

"Gavin, could you please get the other blokes to play something a little more upbeat than last time?"

"Of course, Thomas."

The music started and they danced again, this time several other couples joined them on the dance floor. Brackenreid was surprised to see that even Murdoch was out there with Susie.

_That sly dog. He's got some moves in him after all. Not dance moves though. Poor girl._

Every time they moved, he'd step on her feet. Brackenreid couldn't understand how such an agile, proficient boxer could be so helplessly bad at dancing. Was it all simply due to nerves? Or was he really _that_ horrible?

"And what are you looking so smug about?" asked Margaret. He pointed them out to her and she smiled. "Did you have a hand in that?" Brackenreid grinned. "Why am I not surprised? Oh my, he really is a dreadful dancer, isn't he?"

"Nothing a little practice can't cure," he said.

"I don't know, dear," she said cringing as he stepped on her foot again, "he's the worst dancer I've _ever_ seen! Susie's going to give me an ear full about him later on! I do hope he doesn't hurt her feet too badly."

After the dance was over, Brackenreid got some food and refreshments for Margaret and him. They were half way through when Mr. Taylor wanted everyone's attention again.

"Could everyone please get a glass of wine ready for the toasts?" Once that had been completed, he began. "For those of you who don't know, I'm Margaret's father. She is the youngest of my children but wise beyond her years. While she is compassionate and kind-hearted, you'd be hard pressed to find someone else with such a nasty temper! She gets that from me I'm afraid." A few people laughed. "We've had some rough patches over the years but we've always worked it out. I'm extremely glad about this for otherwise I wouldn't be here to help celebrate in this joyous occasion!" There was some cheering. "A father asks a lot of his daughter's future husband. Is he kind? Will he treat her right? Will she be happy spending the rest of her life with him? I'm happy to say that I believe this to be the case for Thomas. Even though I haven't known him long, I believe him to be an honourable man who will stick by her no matter what." He raised his glass and said, "So here's to my beautiful daughter and her charming husband! May you both stay as happy as you are now for as long as you both shall live!"

There was more clapping and then Mr. Taylor took a drink and everyone followed suit. Susie spoke next and Brackenreid couldn't help but wonder if she was sitting down because of Murdoch. After she was done, Watson spoke.

"I'm Sam Watson and I work with Thomas on a daily basis. Through our many long hours working together, I've learned that he is an exceptional young man. He can be rough around the edges once in awhile but he is a true gentleman when it comes right down to it. I too believe him to be an honourable man. But he's much more than that. He's smart, courageous, very determined, cheeky and dependable. In other words, he's bloody brilliant!" The lads from station house three laughed and cheered loudly. "I'm not well acquainted with his lovely wife but from what Thomas has told me, and yes Margaret, he talks about you a lot-" More laughter- "there couldn't be a more perfect human being on this planet." That got some awws from the female constituents present and Margaret clasped his hand. "I'm sure you're going to be quite content with this Yorkshire chap. In fact, you'll probably be happier than is legally allowed. I just might have to arrest you two!" Cheers and laughter. He raised his glass, "But seriously, I only wish the best for you two. May you never go to bed angry." He glanced at his wife. "Trust me, it's not a good idea!" When the laughter had quieted down, Watson took a sip and so too did the congregation.

A few more speeches followed and then they moved on to the flower toss.

"Ready girls?" asked Margaret gayly.

Giggles abounded after those words and she tossed the bouquet high into the air. There was some ecstatic screaming and Margaret turned around. Susie was holding the bouquet with a hesitant smile across her face. The men were cajoling Murdoch as they had seen them 'dancing' together. He remained impassive about the whole affair.

_That's right William, you just keep telling yourself that it's all superstitious nonsense._

Next a chair was brought out to the centre of the circle and Margaret plopped herself down in it. Again, the men were causing a ruckus as Brackenreid knelt down and stuck his head under her dress. He was under there for far too long and the noise just continued to magnify.

"Um, is everything all right down there?" asked Margaret.

"This damn thing is bloody well stuck!" he exclaimed.

"Are you telling me that your big strong hands can't get a flimsy garter off?"

He didn't respond and then, "Aha, I got you, you bloody bastard!"

Brackenreid finally removed himself from under there and stood up to find everyone falling over in fits of laughter at his ineptitude at the task.

"All right, all right, you've had your fun! Who wants this bloody thing anyways?"

And then he angrily whipped it at the crowd of men. Of course Murdoch was the one to catch it because why not? Now the men were really laying it on thick and Murdoch began to show that they were getting to him. It didn't help that Susie was eyeing him sideways, as were about a dozen other girls.

Poor bloke, thought Brackenreid.

So in order to break this up he yelled, "Who wants some bloody cake?"

That got their rapt attention almost instantly.

It wasn't an ostentatious cake, rather it was simple and elegant, like Margaret's wedding dress. The crowd gathered round as they both took the knife and cut the first slice together as one. Cheering and laughter ensued when Margaret stuck some cake on his face instead of feeding him. He did the same to her and they laughed and it seemed like things might get even messier but Mr. Taylor spoke then.

"Now now, children, enough of that! There's hungry people here! We want some too!"

Once everyone had had their fill of cake, there were quite a few more dances. Susie chose different partners than before but Murdoch still watched her intently and Brackenreid caught her stealing glimpses of him every time she was turned to face him.

_Maybe that'll go somewhere after all?_

After the dancing finished, there wasn't much else to do, except call it a night (though it was still light out). The congregation came together once more to say goodbye and then they watched them go in the tastefully adorned carriage, cheering all the while.


	7. No Rest for Brackenreid

**Author's Note: This is long overdo and I greatly apologize for that.**

* * *

After their blissful honeymoon came to an end, it was back to reality once more. Brackenreid didn't need to work quite so hard anymore since he had paid off his debt before the wedding. Which was a good thing because even after only just a week away, he found it difficult to get back into the swing of police life. It was almost always hectic and unpredictable and he rarely got a moment's peace. As a result he had taken to drinking again, something Margaret wasn't too happy about but had bit her tongue for the time being.

For the first time he wondered if this was indeed his true calling or if he wasn't better suited to being a plumber after all. It might be dull work by comparison but it paid well and would certainly be less stressful, for both him and his new bride. As the weeks went by he seriously considered a change in profession. Watson must have noticed he was behaving differently because he called him into his office and sat him down for a chat.

"What seems to be troubling you, Thomas?"

"It's nothing, sir."

"Come now, Thomas, you can always be honest with me."

"I'm just finding it difficult to adjust to this life again."

Watson smiled and said, "Ah the curse of matrimony. I remember when I came back from my honeymoon. It was as if I had been perched on a cloud of bliss and then rudely knocked off it. As a result, I absolutely hated this job. It was too stressful, too dangerous, just _too_ much."

"Why did you stay here?"

"I didn't know what else to do with my life and besides which, things _did_ eventually get better. The happy cloud that I fell from became a distant memory and I adjusted once more." He patted Brackenreid on the shoulder. "Give it a little more time and if you still feel like you can't handle this line of work anymore, you can take over the desk sergeant position. The pay isn't very good but there's little risk or effort involved." He smirked and said, "That certainly sounds like the type of thing you'd be interested in, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir," he said returning the smirk, "that _definitely_ sounds like me."

Watson stared at him for awhile and then said, "All kidding aside, I think you'd be wise to stick with this. I don't want to lose you, and have to work with that idiot Malcolm again. So I'm going to sweeten the pot a little for you." He paused as if for dramatic effect. "What do you say to becoming acting detective?"

He was speechless at this question. Watson laughed and Brackenreid found his voice. "You can do that? I thought only the inspector could."

"Yes, that is true but Rossel trusts my judgement and will back whatever play I make. I don't foresee any issues on this score. But you still haven't answered me, do you want the position or would you rather go be a...plumber for the rest of your life?"

Brackenreid thought about this for a moment and then smiled as he shook his hand. "You've got a deal, you bloody bastard!"

* * *

"Margaret!" he called sloppily as he came home late that evening, having stopped by the pub to celebrate his promotion. "Margaret?!"

She stormed into the parlour with her blue robe wrapped around her, took one look at his somewhat swaying and dishevelled appearance and said darkly, "Are you drunk again?"

In response he hiccuped and she stormed out of there. "Wait!" he boomed, "I have a good reason this time!"

She laughed loudly without mirth and then slammed the door of their bedroom, locking it behind her. He struggled to keep his balance the whole way over there and then pounded on the door.

"Dammit woman! I'm trying to talk to you!"

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" came the muffled angry response. "I thought you were simply breaking one of your promises to me..._again_!"

"You never want me to have any fun!" he whined bitterly. "A man needs to unwind once in awhile!"

"_Once _in awhile I can understand! But you've been drinking like you used to for the past three weeks! It's utterly revolting!"

If possible he got angrier and mean. "What do _you_ know? You don't work your ass off like I do! You don't have to deal with all the stress of providing for another!"

She made a strange laughing sound, almost like she was choking and he worried for her safety until she responded. "Oh really? I think being pregnant qualifies as providing for another!"

His brain had frozen mid thought. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me, you drunken lout! Or maybe you didn't, either way, I don't much care!"

"Open this door right now!"

"Why?" she said and started to cry, "I can't stand to look at you right now!"

"Goddammit Margaret! I want to embrace the mother of my child!"

There was silence for several moments and then he heard the lock slide out of place, to reveal Margaret silently crying and hugging herself.

He pulled her close and said, "I'm so sorry my love. I hate myself for saying what I did. Can you forgive me?"

"Oh I suppose I could, provided you keep your promises from now on."

"I promise," he said solemnly, as he wiped her tears away, "with all my heart." Abruptly the mood changed, "We're going to have a child!" he said giddily. "That's the best news I've ever heard!"

"Do you really think so?" she said eyeing him cautiously, "or is the drink making you say that?"

"I really mean it Margaret," he said smiling widely.

She smiled back and he picked her up and without thinking started to twirl her around. Unfortunately given his current inebriated state this was more than his system could handle and they both tumbled over onto the ground.

"Are you hurt?" he asked concernedly, touching her belly reflexively.

She placed her own dainty hand over his and said, "It takes a lot more than that to break me, Thomas Brackenreid."

They kissed and once again avoided going to bed angry.

* * *

A couple months later word of a new dangerous gangster spread throughout the city. His name was Walter Iote and he was known for gambling, smuggling and petty theft, as well as many other unsavoury things, the most recent and serious of which was stabbing people that got in his way. The constabulary had tried to catch him many times but so far had been unsuccessful. He was a slippery bastard to say the least. However, Watson had been working on a fool proof way to finally reel him in.

He was devising an ingenious strategy that involved spreading the word about a small shipment of nice watches coming in from New York. It was just the sort of small time score that Iote would be interested in. The trick was to do this anonymously so that he'd have no way of knowing what was coming and because of this, the plan took a while to set up.

Finally one evening, everything was ready and several members of the constabulary, Watson and Brackenreid included, dressed up as sailors and boarded the ship at a different Lake Ontario dock than the one where they hoped to catch Iote. An actual sea captain manoeuvred the boat into place. Once they had docked, they began unloading boxes of inexpensive watches, all the while, discreetly scouting out the area for any suspicious characters. They didn't see any but they didn't expect to until after they left.

They hid behind some crates at different locations around the area and waited patiently for Iote to make a move. It didn't take long before someone came down, walking slowly as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was still too dark to make out the man's face but Brackenreid was quite sure that it was him. Brackenreid began to make a move but Watson held him back and so they continued to watch the man as he surreptitiously popped open one of the boxes they had recently loaded into the back of a waggon. The man seemed to be pleased with what he saw and he started filling a bag up with his loot. Now Watson signalled to the other constables and they prepared to pounce on their prey. Unfortunately one of the younger constables got a little over eager and cocked his shotgun right at that moment. In the silence of the area, the sound was deafening.

Goddammit! he thought as he glared in the direction of the noise.

Without turning around, the man took off. Constables shot at him but only managed to graze his leg and Brackenreid and Watson chased after him. They were almost upon him when the man abruptly whirled around and lashed out, slicing clean through Watson's suit. He staggered forward and collapsed.

_Oh no! This can't be happening!_

As his brain struggled to function, and he debated what to do, the man jumped into a waiting carriage and took off. There was no way to catch up now so Brackenreid attended to his fallen comrade, hoping the damage wasn't fatal.

* * *

The doctor told Brackenreid and Watson's wife that the slash hadn't done permanent damage. They both gave a sigh of relief at that news. However, it was still a serious wound and he would be bed bound for several weeks, in order to keep en eye out for infection and fever.

Because of this Brackenreid was temporarily placed as lead detective for station house three. He used as much of his new found power as he possibly could and focused all his efforts on locating Iote once and for all. After another man hunt had been tried and still there was no luck, it became apparent that he had gone into hiding and would need to be smoked out. The problem was he had no idea how to do that. He became so obsessed with locating him that he rarely went home anymore and Inspector Rossel became concerned and called him into his office.

"Look Brackenreid, I know how much you want to catch this criminal, we all want the same thing here but well, you're going a little overboard don't you think? I'm ordering you to go home and get a good night's rest."

"But, sir!"

"Go home, Brackenreid. Your health is too important to be meddling with unnecessarily. I've already got one man out of commission, I'd rather not make it two."

Thomas Brackenreid was not one to break easily so he stood his ground, unimpressed with his bosses arguments so far.

Inspector Rossel sighed and said, "If I can't convince you, I'll get your pregnant wife on the phone this instant."

His hand hovered over the telephone and without further ado Brackenreid grumbled his way out of there. But he didn't harbour much resentment at his boss come the morning because he really did feel refreshed and like the world was full of possibilities, like he could accomplish anything that day.

Before he even left his residence, a constable stopped by to tell him a body had been found. Brackenreid hurried to get dressed, kissed his wife and was on his way.

The poor bloke was lying on his back on his bed, staring wide eyed at the ceiling, as if he had seen unspeakable terror before his demise. Perhaps he had. Upon closer inspection, Brackenreid saw a familiar sight, that of a single stab wound to the heart, causing a massive amount of blood pooling. He got a grim smile across his face as he prayed he was one step closer to getting revenge.

* * *

The pathologist couldn't tell him anything he didn't already know, that the wound was made with a thin bladed instrument, likely a stiletto and that the deceased had been pierced between the third and fourth vertebrostinal ribs, directly into his heart.

With nothing else to go on, they took the wife in for interrogation and Brackenreid got the honour of cracking her open, not literally of course, he would never harm a woman.

At first she wouldn't say a word, but then Brackenreid started showing her pictures of her dead husband, as well as all of Iote's other victims and she finally broke down and told him everything she knew. Apparently she had been that psychopaths mistress.

"We met at an underground gambling ring that specialized in ratting but sometimes had other events. I believe I stood out to him because I was the only women there, which is understandable since most women can't stomach such grizzly sights. Anyway, Walter began giving me lavish gifts in order to win my affection. Eventually he succeeded in wooing me and our affair began."

"Did your husband find out? Is that why you had your beau kill him?"

"Yes, he did find out last night and threatened to kill me." She pointed to a black eye and said, "Even gave me this beauty. I managed to run away and told Walter what he had said and done but I didn't think he would actually kill him!"

Brackenreid scoffed at that. "And what exactly _did _you think was going to happen? He's been stabbing people all over the place!"

"That's what you say," she muttered, "but you don't have any proof. Anyone could have killed those men."

He slammed his fist onto the table and startled her. "I can't believe you're that naive!" he growled. "Surely you must have known the truth about the man you were sharing a bed with!" She scowled and didn't say anything and he laughed. "Oh, don't tell me, you were blinded by love! What utter bollocks!" He laughed some more and she demanded to leave. "You're not going anywhere, dear, not until you tell me where he is."

"I don't know where he is. And even if I contacted him now he wouldn't be foolish enough to tell me."

Brackenreid smiled without humour and said, "I'm sure we can work something out."


	8. 1890, Here We Come!

The headline read: _**Brutalized Wife Strikes Back**._ The article detailed how the police believed Mrs. Garfunkel had stabbed her husband in his sleep after he beat her. Brackenreid had managed to get this fake article printed by calling in a large favour from the current editor of the Gazette. Inspector Rossel didn't much appreciate this use of police power but couldn't put an end to it as it had already been published by the time he found out about it. Needless to say, this put Brackenreid in hot water with his boss.

_This better work or I'll really be in trouble._

He waited all day for Iote to turn himself in and save the woman he apparently had feelings for. When he didn't show, Brackenreid wondered if he had read too much into their relationship. Maybe he simply stabbed the husband because that's something he clearly enjoyed doing? But that wouldn't explain why he risked exposing himself when he must have known there was a man hunt out for his blood. If he truly didn't care about her, he would have let her be killed by her enraged husband. And if a man like Iote could be chivalrous enough to stick his own neck out, there had to be a deep connection there. At least, this is what he kept telling himself over and over again in order to rationalize his actions.

Rossel glared more and more at Brackenreid as the day went by and he couldn't blame him. His plan had failed and the press would have a field day with this whole situation, so much so, he'd be lucky to keep his job.

_What will Margaret say?_

He was about to leave for the night when he thought better of it. Something just occurred to him and he couldn't believe how dumb he had been to just realize this. Iote's mode of operation was to always stay in the shadows until he struck. Which meant that if he was planning on saving his lover, he wouldn't be doing so by turning himself over to the authorities. He would wait till dark and then try and break her free (they had had to keep Mrs. Garfunkel locked up to make this whole thing look convincing, something else Rossel had berated him about). So Brackenreid took over for the night guard (dressing the part too) and posted himself in the holding cell area. She looked at him quizzically but didn't say anything and prepared to go to sleep.

Brackenreid sat down and waited and waited and despite his best efforts found his eyes drooping more and more frequently. It was hard to believe he had ever survived the army for as long as he did given his current lack of control, especially since his life was almost certainly in jeopardy, just like it had been countless times in the service. He didn't know when it happened but he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he heard hushed voices and opened his eyes to find a man conversing with Mrs. Garfunkel.

She pointed at him with an angry scowl across her face and Iote turned to face him, visibly enraged. Clearly the damn woman had informed him that this was yet another elaborate ploy to capture him. Instead of running away like the last time, he charged at Brackenreid, stiletto poised and ready to strike. Brackenreid had just enough time to block the attack, seizing Iote's wrist with both of his hands. Iote used his own strategy and doubled up his strength. They would have been fairly evenly matched except Iote had the advantage of all his weight pressing down on Brackenreid. The blade was inching ever closer and it would only be a matter of time before he was pierced through the heart like all the other victims before him.

So he kicked out with both of his feet as hard as he could, pushing him back a few feet and knocking the wind out of him but not forcing him to drop the knife. He staggered towards him again but before he could fully recover, Brackenreid retrieved his baton and whacked him across the face. Iote fell to his knees but still tried to come after him. It took another good wallop to beat him down to the ground. Brackenreid kicked the knife away from him and then dragged him by the foot into a nearby cell, Mrs. Garfunkel shrieking at him all the while. He wondered if she had been yelling the entire time and he had simply been so focused on Iote that he hadn't noticed. Whatever the case, he felt like maybe he could harm a woman. After all, she had almost gotten him killed!

He clanged the cell door and locked it up tight.

Then he glared at her for a few seconds and said, "Scream all you want, sunshine, you're not getting out of there any time soon!"

That just made her scream louder and he grit his teeth and left promptly, afraid of what he might do to her if he stuck around much longer. He went into Watson's office and made a call to the Inspector, detailing everything that had gone down. He congratulated him somewhat hesitatingly but didn't offer to come down right then as it was quite late and in any case, Iote would be unconscious for hours to come. Brackenreid glanced at his pocket watch and saw it was 4:24 a.m.

_Bloody Hell! But at least it's finally over._

He badly wanted to call up Watson as well but decided against it. The man needed as much sleep as he could get since he was still far from being fully recovered. He made a mental note to go visit him in hospital tomorrow morning. Too exhausted to move, he fell asleep instantly at his colleagues desk.

* * *

At 9:04 he awoke and groggily walked out into the main room. Everyone turned as he entered and started cheering and patting him on the back and shaking his hand. Normally he would have appreciated this but right now the noise was given him a headache in his semi-deprived sleep state. Thankfully Rossel intervened and called him into his office.

"I see you're quite the celebrity now, Brackenreid. But don't let it go to your head. That sort of nonsense is never good for a young man's ego."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"Good. That being said, I foresee great things in your future. This is the sort of case that makes a man's career. You'll go far from here on out. I wouldn't be surprised if you had another promotion coming your way very soon, you've earned it."

"Thank you, sir."

"That is all, you're dismissed."

Shortly after Brackenreid checked on Iote and his annoying lady friend. When they saw him, she was surprisingly quiet while he threatened his life.

"When I get outta here, I'm gonna kill you copper! Mark my words! It may not be today or tomorrow but one day, I'm gonna come for you and I'll finish the job I started!"

"Can it, you goddamn wanker!" he said as he struck the bars with his baton. "You won't be hurting anyone ever again!"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, you swine!" And then he spat at him but Brackenreid dodged it nimbly.

"Did you just gob at me, you tosser?" he shouted enraged. Then he banged the bars where Iote had been clasping them and he cried out in pain. With a smug smile on his face, he left the two love birds alone again.

Next Brackenreid went to Toronto General to tell Watson the good news.

"I knew you could do it," Sam said with a large smile. "When you set your mind to something, you always come through."

"Thanks for saying that Sam." Then he smirked and said, "And I hope you get better bloody well soon cause I'm getting awfully tired of picking up the slack for you."

"How touching," Sam said grinning.

They clasped hands and Brackenreid was on his way again to see his wife. He left out the particulars of what had happened but somehow her pregnancy had given her supernatural senses and she could now always tell when he was being less than forthcoming. She made him spill the beans and then shrieked her head off and almost fainted. He led her to a chair and held her hand until she calmed down. As far as he was concerned, this baby couldn't come faster. Unfortunately they were still half a year away from that fateful event.

Iote was speedily processed and locked up in a high security prison. The warden was instructed to keep him in isolation at all times or he was likely to cause problems. Months went by and all appeared well, they hadn't heard a peep about him in all that time.

* * *

New Year's Eve was fast approaching and Brackenreid would have his chance to attend the first ever police man's ball. He wasn't looking overly forward to prancing around like a poofter again. It was one thing to do that at his wedding but an entirely different thing to do that just because another year was coming to an end. But he bared it all with a smile because Margaret hadn't been this excited about something since she found out she was with child.

As a result they were the first to show up. Even the musicians had yet to arrive.

_Bloody hell! This is going to be a long night._

Finally others started to file in and he greeted each and every one of them, though he was more gracious towards those that he actually knew. Among these were Rossel and his wife, Watson and his wife and even more surprisingly, Murdoch and his date, Susie. He stared at his wife and she shrugged, he couldn't believe she hadn't mentioned this before hand. Then again, he had made it pretty clear that he wasn't interested in lady gossip shortly after their marriage.

"Thomas," he said, shaking his hand. "How good to see you again."

"You as well, William."

"Come on Susie," said Margaret, winking, "let the men talk business."

They walked away and over to the punch bowl, laughing the whole time.

"Congratulations on the baby," said Murdoch. "I think you'll make a fine father."

"Thank you, William." He smirked, "I see you've gotten quite close to Susie." He punched him lightly in the arm. "I knew you had it in you, you old dog."

Murdoch blushed a little at that but quickly fought his embarrassment off. "She is a wonderful woman, that much is certain."

"Yes, she must be if she agreed to go dancing with you again!" Brackenried laughed and Murdoch smiled sheepishly. "Have you at least gotten better since the last time?"

"No, I'm afraid my duties have kept me from pursuing such frivolous exploits." He smiled slightly and said, "I'm acting detective now, you see."

"Good on you, mate!" Brackenreid said smiling. "So am I!"

Murdoch raised his eyebrows at that as if to say, 'That was quite fast.' All he did say was, "Congratulations, Thomas."

They shook hands again and then returned to their women. Not long after the chief constable called everyone's attention to him (on the stage where the musicians resided) and he made a short speech about the event, (which somehow seemed very long because he spoke so slowly) and then continued by saying he was retiring in the near future. No one appeared shocked by this revelation because he was so old. Frankly they were more surprised that he hadn't stepped down a while ago. He finished by calling Stockton up to the stage and proclaimed he would be his predecessor.

That left many people speechless, especially Murdoch. Stockton was not the brightest of men and was known to be a bigot. One could only wonder how he would handle running the entire constabulary, even if it was only four houses. In any case, polite clapping ensued. Now the question on everyone's mind was who was going to take over his position? Apparently they would have to wait a while longer to find out for without further ado the chief signalled to the quartet to start playing and the festivities began.

Once again Brackenreid couldn't help but grimace just like Susie did every time Murdoch stepped on her feet.

_She's a braver lass than I._

After a few songs she called it quits and Brackenreid could only imagine how much Murdoch was apologizing to her right now. To his great relief, Margaret also called it quits because her back and feet had started to pain her.

All four of them sat down at a vacant table and shared a bottle of champagne, though Murdoch had the least amount as he didn't much care for it, claiming to only enjoy Spruce beer which he had developed a taste for while living in Nova Scotia. From the sounds of it, it sounded absolutely revolting but then again, Murdoch was an odd chap so that explained his strange tastes.

They chatted about all manner of things until the music stopped again and the chief started the count down for 1890. The excitement and decibel level continued to rise until the clock struck midnight and then it erupted with cheers of Happy New Year and people kissing. Brackenreid saw Murdoch hesitate out of the corner of his eye but then he finally planted one on Susie. It was a very respectful, short kiss and Brackenreid wondered if that was the first one. Susie seemed disappointed by his lack of passion but hid it the best she could.

Then the music started up again to a familiar tune and everyone sang Auld Lang Syne at the top of their lungs, the noise becoming deafening after a short while. Not long after The Brackenreid's said their goodbyes and headed home as Margaret was very exhausted.

She fell asleep on his shoulder during the carriage ride back and Brackenreid touched the slight swell of her stomach with fondness and trepidation. In just four months time he would be a father. The thought simultaneously made him burst with pride and terrified him to no end. No matter what others had said he wasn't quite so confident that he would be able to handle a child, especially if it was a girl. He had no idea how to interact with them, never had.

_Let it be a boy, God, please let it be a boy!_


	9. In His Eyes

**Note: In trying to keep with the details of the show as much as possible, I've had to change Murdoch's station house to number two.**

In the middle of January, something unusual but not wholly unexpected occurred. Detective Malcolm Lamb of station house four punched out his superior, Inspector Cassidy! No one knew the exact cause of the argument that preceded this act of violence but it wasn't hard to make a guess. Cassidy was a closed-minded individual who was capable of offending someone at every turn. In any case, Lamb was dismissed for insubordination and there was now a permanent space open for a new detective. Stockton would have recommended Murdoch for the spot except that he hated him. His hatred towards Murdoch was so strong that he'd rather continue to suffer with him for a little while longer, rather than pay him any more dues, especially since he had just been promoted in August. And the only reason Stockton had promoted Murdoch previously was because he had been with the constabulary for far too long and been far too valuable not to do so, without it looking odd to his superior. So instead of Murdoch, a complete dolt named McDonald would take that place.

* * *

Three more months went by and finally the current chief stepped down and Stockton took his place. The entire constabulary was present at the ceremony, all dressed in their finer police garb. The torch (so to speak) was passed and everyone clapped, many cheered (though not Brackenreid and Murdoch). They were both doing their best to appear pleased by this change in staffing, a difficult feat indeed. The new chief said a few words and then:

"You may be wondering who will take over as Inspector for station house four. Well, I've given this a lot of thought...and I believe Detective Sam Watson is the man for the job." Everyone turned to give him their full attention. He just stood there shell shocked.

Brackenreid thumped him on the back and said, "Go on, me old mucker, what are you waiting for?"

Watson slowly made his way up to the platform, men shaking his hand left, right and centre. They were all smiling but Watson was not. When he finally got up there, he vaguely shook hands with both the old and new chief and then just stood there with eyes closed as if collecting his thoughts.

He remained this way for what seemed like ages and the lads shared confused looks with one another.

Chatter ensued but then all of a sudden he opened his eyes again and said without emotion, "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't accept the position." Murmurs of disbelief abounded.

"What is the meaning of this?" hissed Stockton angrily. "This is an honour!"

"I'm well aware of that, sir, but with all due respect, I'm _not_ the right man for the job. I'm not sure what you've heard about me but well, I like solving puzzles, I don't like dealing with the bureaucracy of the job. I'm afraid I simply don't have the patience for that sort of thing. You'll have to find someone else."

Without further ado he walked away from them and then continued out of the hall where the event had been taking place. Brackenreid chased after him.

"Bloody hell, Sam!"

Watson rounded on him and said, "What do _you_ want, Thomas? To tell me what a fool I just was? I know very well already so you don't need to inform me of that again."

"No, I wasn't going to say anything like that." He smirked and said, "I was going to say, you were bloody brilliant!"

Watson eyed him flabbergasted and said, "How can you say _that_? I just embarrassed the chief constable in front of the entire constabulary! I'll be lucky not to get fired now!"

"I wouldn't worry too much about that, Sam," he said slapping him on the back. "It's the bastards own fault for not discussing this with you beforehand. And if Stockton does anything as daft as to fire yet another well established detective within just a few months of the last one, for so small a slight, the lads would mutiny, you can count on that. And there's no way he'd risk having to replace the entire station house. Even he's not that crackers."

"I suppose you're right, Thomas," he said, his frown disappearing. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. What are mates for?"

* * *

Just the very next evening, Stockton made a personal visit to Brackenreid's home. Without asking for permission he marched on in.

He didn't say anything at first and then, "Well aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

Brackenreid looked embarrassed and said, "I'm afraid the wife doesn't let me keep any at home."

Stockton stared at him coldly and said, "Perhaps I was wrong in choosing you after all."

"Sir?" said Brackenreid confusedly.

"If you don't even have control over your own wife, how are you going to run a station house?"

He couldn't compute what had just been said. All he could manage was staring open mouthed at him.

"Don't look so shocked. It's no surprise that we're in desperate need of a new Inspector after yesterdays...fiasco. And I know you're only an acting detective now but from everything I've heard, you're able to command the men with ease. As well, you were able to capture that gangster all by yourself so you've obviously got a decent head on your shoulders." Brackenreid continued to be speechless. "Well what do you say?" he asked annoyed at his silence and fearing another rejection.

The last thing Brackenreid would ever want is a hand out from a man like Stockton but he would be starting a family soon and it would be the epitome of stupidity to refuse this generous offer and increase in pay.

"I'd be honoured, sir," he said shaking his hand in earnest.

"Good. I'll be explaining the ropes to you tomorrow morning so you better not be late!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Stockton nodded and promptly left.

* * *

Very early the next morning Margaret roused him from his slumber and said something that he didn't understand at first.

"Hmm?" he muttered sleepily and rolled over.

"I said, the babies coming!" she shrieked.

_Oh bloody hell! Of all days!_

He propped himself up rapidly and faced her, only just able to make out her features in the mostly dark room. "Are you sure? I thought you weren't due for another two weeks?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" she said grabbing him by his shoulders with surprising strength and shaking him. In between grunts she screamed,"Get-Louisa-here-immediately!"

Without another word he jumped into action and contacted the midwife. It was several rings before her weary husband answered the phone. Brackenreid frantically stuttered one word and the man passed the phone over to his wife. Louisa calmed Brackenreid down as best she could and then said she'd be there as soon as possible. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't nearly fast enough. By the time she got there, his hand had been pulverized by Margaret's inhuman strength and he winced every time he tried to flex it or when she grabbed it again during one of her contractions. She had squeezed so hard that he feared his wedding ring was now permanently welded to his finger and he'd never be able to get it off short of chopping the mangled digit off. Little did he know, the real torture had yet to begin.

Louisa quickly and expertly prepared the bed with fresh white linens that she had brought along with her and then got Margaret positioned correctly, legs bent and wide apart near the edge of the bed. She also placed a basin of cold water and a cloth by the bedside. Brackenreid was instructed to dab at Margaret's head periodically in order to help prevent her from overheating. He supposed they had gone over this before but for the life of him, he couldn't remember.

"You're doing great, dear," said the young woman loudly over Margaret's screams of agony. "Just keep breathing like we practised and this will all be over before you know it."

_She better be right. My goddamn hand has gone numb!_

Three hours later they were still at it, his hand had turned purple and he himself was barely standing. This was not so much because he was tired (though indeed he was as he had only gotten a few hours sleep) but rather due to the sight of what was emerging from his wife's nether region. He tried not to look but it was like a terrible carriage accident, equally horrifying and fascinating that you simply couldn't.

The child's head had come out first so he was unable to determine the sex of the baby as of yet. But even if it had come out the other way, he still probably wouldn't have been able to tell because it was covered in what appeared to be blood and some other unknown white substance. He had no idea that was how babies looked before they were cleaned off, though he supposed he should have expected as much. This whole business was fairly bizarre and bewildering, so it seemed fitting that his child looked like some sort of swamp thing.

"Give me one more big push, dear, and you'll have cleared the shoulders."

Margaret grunted and shrieked again and Brackenreid stared, transfixed as the creature finally emerged in full from its mother's womb. For the first time that day, he smiled. His prayers had been answered, he had a son!

"Congratulations!" said Louisa ecstatically, clasping the child in a white towel,"You have a lovely boy!"

As soon as she said this, Margaret finally released her grip and sighed contently, as did Brackenreid because the blood rushed back into his poor hand again. Under normal circumstances, this sensation would have been very painful but as things were, he barely noticed.

The next second Margaret asked concernedly,"Is everything okay? Why hasn't he cried?"

"It's perfectly normal for it to take some time, dear, especially when the child is premature. There's nothing to worry about." Brackenreid sensed a 'yet' that she wasn't saying but let it be. "Would you like to cut the cord, Thomas?" Louisa asked, pointing to a clean pair of scissors on the table beside the basin.

He nodded vaguely and picked them up with his good hand. His hand began to tremble as he attempted to cut the cord and Louisa held out one gross hand to steady his own. Once the child was completely free from his mother, the mid wife took him to a vacant table and cleaned him off properly. Brackenreid was expecting this process to reveal a pink little version of himself but instead the newborn was grey and discoloured.

For the first time Louisa looked a little concerned which made Brackenreid incredibly nervous but then she held him up by one leg and lightly slapped his behind and a second later the boy opened his mouth and uttered his first piercing wail.

"That's my boy," she muttered, smirking slightly, as she bundled him up in a clean towel.

By the time she had finished this task, the child had finally started to take on a normal shade and Brackenreid couldn't have been happier. Louisa passed the boy over to him and then announced she was going to get cleaned up herself in another room so that they could have a moment alone.

Brackenreid brought the child over to his barely conscious wife and she beamed with the intensity of a bonfire as he placed him in her arms.

"He's perfect," she said quietly, completely drained of strength.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, dear," he said holding her hand again and noticing that it too had returned to its former colour.

She kissed the now mostly silent boy on the forehead and then promptly fell asleep. Brackenreid returned the favour and kissed her on her moist forehead and then picked the boy up once more. He cradled the lad in his arms and stared at him intently. Then as if by magic, the child slowly opened his eyes for the first time and looked directly into his own. The sheer blueness was startling and pierced him to the core. It was like looking into a mirror. The boys eyes were identical to his own! What a wondrous thing to experience! In that instant he knew he would love this child unconditionally for the rest of his life. Sadly, this intense bond only lasted for a moment because the child proceeded to close his eyes and begin to cry. Brackenreid wondered if he had done something wrong while he tried to soothe him.

"It's okay little man," he said over and over again. "Nothing and no one is ever going to harm you. I give you my word."

Unfortunately, this heartfelt proclamation seemed to have little effect and if anything the boy seemed to cry louder, which of course was somewhat perplexing to the proud papa. A few minutes later the midwife had come back and he gladly handed the boy over. She rocked the baby back and forth and within seconds he had calmed down and appeared to have fallen asleep, just like his mother.

Louisa placed the child in the crib and then settled into a corner and took out some knitting. She would stay with them until Margaret was back to her old self. Brackenreid contently soaked in his surroundings for awhile until he too fell asleep. When he next awoke a few hours later, it was to find Margaret feeding their child for the first time. He went over to her side and held her hand. Then out of nowhere, a stubborn thought scratched at the back of his brain. It continued to bother him until he was forced to pay attention to it. When he did his mouth opened wide. He was supposed to be at station house four hours ago!

_Surely Stockton would understand?_

With that thought in mind, Brackenreid hurriedly got dressed, kissed a content Margaret, thanked a disapproving Louisa and ran towards his future...with any luck that is.

* * *

Winded and extremely tired, he slouched over in front of the station to catch his breath and compose himself a bit before entering. Once he did, a bead of sweat stung his eye and he realized he had forgotten to wipe his forehead clean. Just as he finished this, Stockton stormed out of his office and approached him like wildfire. All eyes turned to face Brackenreid's impending doom, one of the bastards even had the gall to smirk at his misfortune and it was all he could do not to march over there and throttle him.

Brackenreid instinctively stood at attention, as if he was back in the army.

_Old habits die hard, I guess._

"You're a disgrace to this establishment, Brackenreid!" boomed his seething boss . "I should have known better than to put _you_ in charge of things! I have half a mind to fire you this instant! Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Stockton glared at him with intense loathing but Brackenreid wasn't affected. His heart was still bursting with joy at the events of the day. He felt like he could take on anything life had to throw at him with ease. He was just _that_ happy. And because of this he unintentionally smiled.

"I fail to see the humour in this situation!" howled an irate Stockton. "Do you think it funny to arrive hours late to work?"

"Not at all, sir," he said smiling wider as he pictured his boys bright blue eyes.

"Then cut that goddamn smiling out!" he said fuming.

Brackenreid tried but found his face stubbornly stuck. "I'm sorry, sir, but I just can't do that."

"And why the hell not?" he demanded.

"Because I became a father today, sir."

That statement hung in the air for ages and some of the lads whistled lowly in that interminable interval but no one moved a muscle.

"You _what_?" said Stockton, taken aback.

"I just had a son. I came as soon as I could."

Stockton opened his mouth as if to say something and then turned on his heel and back into his office, slamming the door in the process and quickly shutting the blinds. Muffled screams could be heard from within. At that point everyone came back to life and started congratulating him. It was a bit strange to him that so many strangers had learned this news before his friends and family. But it was what it was, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Some time after that, Brackenreid wondered what he should do with himself, when a composed Stockton opened the door to his office and ushered him in. Without apologizing in the slightest, they began his training. Brackenreid did his best to follow all that was being said but it was extremely difficult. Every few seconds a different image of his son would pop into his mind and make him lose track of time. Stockton must have noticed this and sighed.

"Go on home to your wife and child. We'll continue this in a few days. You're utterly useless to me right now."

"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand.

Stockton begrudgingly took it and Brackenreid ran on out of there, back to where his heart belonged.


	10. And Then There Were Two

They named him Bobby, after his grandfather Robert. It had been a family name for generations and Brackenreid wasn't about to stop that tradition. Margaret was happy enough to call him that, provided she got to name the next one. Just thinking about the possibility of having another child was stunning. And what was to stop them at two? Maybe they'd have three or four or ten?

Before he got too carried away in his thoughts, he came to understand why that would never happen. They simply would never be able to afford it. While it was true that an Inspectors salary was about as good as it got on the police force, it was still far from luxurious. They were still going to have trouble making ends meet as it was. But he didn't do this job for the pay, rather he did it because he was very good at it and because of the way it made him feel. Like a real man, who got to boss everyone else around for a change and for once not feel like the emasculated thing that quaked under his domineering wife's eye.

He wasn't bitter about her strong presence in the household, rather that was one of the reasons he loved her so much. She was the most ferocious woman he had ever met, save for his own mother. The only thing he didn't particularly care for was her stubbornness in letting him drink at home. It was his house, goddammit, he would shout at her, he should be allowed to drink there! She was having nothing of it, especially now that they had a newborn to look after. But it was because of the child that he felt compelled to drink. He loved him greatly but the little tyke would constantly cry and it set his teeth on edge, especially when he had to be up early for work.

This left Brackenreid with only one option, he would have to drink at work in order to get his daily fix. Sure he could go to a pub afterwards but then Margaret would be able to smell the recently consumed alcohol on his breath. As well, he was liable to over do it when in those surroundings and he had promised to never get filthy drunk again, a promise he intended to keep this time. So it was fortunate that he was the boss at work now and no one could complain about his drinking habits there. And since he had to keep most of his wits about him at any given time, he never had more than a glass here and there. By the time he went home every evening, Margaret was none the wiser, at least, that is what he believed.

A month went by and Brackenreid finally found his home duties becoming as simple as his work ones. It was no great surprise to him that he was such a natural playing the role of leader. After all, only a few years ago he had been commanding a platoon of men with great success. Back then, the ones that followed his orders survived, the ones that didn't perished soon after and now was no different. Of course, generally speaking, the stakes were much lower here in this relatively civilized part of the world but nonetheless there were casualties from time to time but just like in the army, there was no shortage of men to resupply demand.

However there was one matter that had him pulling his hair out still, that of his detective McDonald. The man was a complete ignoramus and couldn't seem to follow the simplest of instructions. How he had gotten his position, Brackenreid finally learned the day he tried to fire him. Apparently McDonald was in Crown Prosecutor Dillard's pocket and he refused to let Brackenreid dismiss him without undue charges. What follows is their brief clashing of heads.

"Charges?!" barked Brackenreid. "I'll give you all the charges you need! The man is bloody incompetent! He's yet to solve a single case since he was placed here! And it's making the whole goddamn constabulary look the fool! How is that for charges?"

Dillard looked off to the side and then glared at him angrily."The boys just taking some time to find his ground!"

"I'd say we're well past the settling in period! It's time for him to go!"

"If you go through with this," his eyes flashed dangerously, "you'll regret it. Do you know what I can do to you if you cross me?"

Brackenreid wasn't one to back down from a decision. "Are you threatening an officer of the law, prosecutor?"

"No, of course not!" said Dillard hastily, seeming to come to his senses. "I would never do such a thing!"

"That's good to know because the last time I checked, we were on the same side."

Dillard sighed and said, "Do you really have to fire him? Isn't there somewhere else you could place him instead?"

Brackenreid observed him impassively for a few seconds and took a sip of whiskey. Then he smiled and said, "You know what, sunshine, I think there is."

"Marvelous!-"

"I think he'd be a fine desk sergeant over at station house three."

The prosecutor made a sound like a cat being strangled and then barged on out of there.

_Bloody hell! I love this job!_

* * *

With McDonald out of the picture, Brackenreid had a space to fill. And he knew just the person for the job. However, a couple of weeks after he simultaneously hired Murdoch and promoted him to the rank of detective, he began to regret his decision. While he had a great admiration for the man, he was the slowest worker he had ever come across in his life. He liked to joke that he had two speeds; slow and dead slow. But regardless of Murdoch's unorthodox investigation techniques, there was no denying his worth. Since he had begun working there, he had solved every case thrown at him and in his free time had gone back and solved the cold cases McDonald had buggered up. So even though Brackenreid rarely understood what Murdoch was talking about, he was a humble enough man to just let Murdoch do things his way and let him work his magic (for in fact, that is precisely what the scientific techniques appeared to be to Brackenreid).

Murdoch was the most well adjusted man Brackenreid had ever met, so when he had been out of sorts for several days and somewhat listless, it peaked the inspectors interest and he called him into his office.

"What's the matter, me old mucker?"

Murdoch glanced away and said, "It's nothing, sir. It's a personal matter not fit to be discussed at the precinct. I wouldn't concern yourself over it in the slightest."

"_Murdoch_," said Brackenreid exasperated, "I thought we were past this?" Murdoch looked up into his eyes. "If something in your personal life is affecting your work performance than it follows that it _is_ my bloody concern."

Murdoch seemed to think about this for a moment. "I suppose you are right, sir." Brackenreid simply continued to stare at him. "Well, sir, I am no longer courting Susie."

This didn't come as a big surprise to him but all he said was, "I'm sorry to hear that, Murdoch. What happened?"

"She didn't tell me the reason. I gather she simply didn't desire my company anymore. I just wish I knew what I did wrong. I thought we were meant to be."

"I can't promise anything Murdoch but I will ask Margaret what she knows and maybe, just maybe, we'll get down to the bottom of this."

Murdoch beamed at him and said, "I greatly appreciate this, sir. I am forever indebted to you!"

"Right," he said awkwardly. "Well, back to work with you!"

* * *

That evening he broached the subject with his wife. She didn't seem surprised by his question but was quite tickled that he was willing to discuss lady gossip for his friend's benefit.

"_Margaret,"_ he warned after she laughed a little too long.

"All right, all right," she said calming down. The next instant her tone was serious. "You know I can't tell you, Thomas. Susie told me certain things in confidence and I would be remiss to tell you."

"I'm no goddamn gossip, Margaret!" he said losing his temper. "I'm your husband! I have a right to know what you know!"

She stared at him unmoved and said, "It's funny you should say that. I never hear you going on about work things. Apparently you don't trust me enough to confide in me."

"That's different!" he exclaimed.

"Is it?" she asked, clearly miffed. "Or do you simply think I can't handle the type of things you witness on a day to day basis...because I'm a woman?"

He growled and then, "Fine! I'll tell you whatever you want to know but then you have to tell me why Susie kicked Murdoch loose! He's a bloody mess and it's affecting his work performance!"

Margaret contemplated this for a moment, smiled mischievously and said, "Okay, we have a deal."

Brackenreid gulped and said, "What do you want to know?"

"I've noticed for a long time that your hands are often bruised. So tell me dear, how often do you beat suspects up?"

"I dunno, maybe a few times a week. But they're all tossers! They bloody well deserve it!"

Margaret raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "Have you killed anyone since coming to Canada?"

"No, I have not."

"But you came close a few times."

"Yes," he said uncomfortably.

"One last question. Did you really think I didn't know you were drinking at work?"

"Margaret, I-"

"Thank you," she said, smiling, and touching him on the cheek, "for respecting my wishes. I know I haven't been the fairest lately but I don't want our son exposed to any untoward behaviour at such a young age." She paused for a moment, "Okay, well, here's what I know. Susie cares a great deal for William but well, he's just a little too odd for her liking." Brackenreid had a good idea of what she meant but didn't comment. "Apparently he goes on and on about various different things that don't interest her in the slightest but she's too polite to ask him to stop. She doesn't want to marry a professor, especially such a religious one, her dad is already quite enough in that regard. So you see, I'm afraid that they simply aren't compatible enough to work out."

"Poor bugger," he muttered.

_How am I going to tell him?_

* * *

"Murdoch," he called from the door of his office the next morning.

The detective dropped what he was doing and hurried over there.

"Yes, sir?" he asked eagerly. "What did you discover?"

Brackenreid couldn't take his puppy dog eyes so he copped out. "I'm afraid I couldn't get Margaret to tell me. She was very stubborn about this issue."

"Oh," he said, the disappointment oozing like honey from that one simple syllable and refusing to vacate Brackenreid's ears.

"Cheer up bucko!" Brackenreid said in a much more chipper voice than he felt and startling both of them. "There's plenty of fish in the sea. I'm sure you'll catch another in no time!"

Murdoch didn't seem very convinced by this statement and said without enthusiasm, "If you say so, sir."

Trying to salvage this train wreck of a situation, he picked up his glass and said, "Care for a nip?

"No thank you, sir."

The only other thing he could think of doing was to try and get the poor sap to forget about her through distraction. "Do you have any plans tonight, Murdoch?"

He shook his head.

"You're coming out with me and Sam then."

"I don't think-"

"_Murdoch_, that's an order."

"All right, sir. I'll see you then."

* * *

All ten of them were dressed similarly to how they dressed at the annual police games, with a plain undershirt and suspenders holding up their trousers and a pair of beat up boots. Five of them were on each side of the line and eagerly waiting for the go ahead by the referee. Murdoch had been instructed to sit this first bout of Rugby out in order to learn the basics of the game play. The sport was quite popular in England but it had yet to really catch on over here so it was no wonder that he didn't know how to play. Of course, they weren't really playing it properly either. They didn't have the correct number of players per team but that didn't matter. What mattered was blowing off some steam with a bit of (semi) friendly sportsmanship.

Finally the referee released the ball and the front runners (of which Brackenreid was one) lunged for it, dirt flying everywhere. Unfortunately the other side was faster and got their hands on it first. Before the player could go anywhere, Brackenreid had tackled him to the ground, amidst cheers from his team. The sides reformed themselves and the process repeated, over and over again. A few goals were scored on either side and they were fairly tied up by the half way point.

After a short break, Brackenreid had Murdoch take over Watson's place. Previously he had told the lads to go easy on Murdoch since this was his first time playing. However, once they played a set, it was clear there had been no reason for this. Murdoch was a natural and seemed to have no trouble picking up the moves required to succeed in this game. In fact, just like with boxing, he was a little too good and was taking this a little too seriously, that the others were getting a bit annoyed. At one point his own team mates tried to tackle him when he didn't even have the ball and Brackenreid knew then it was time to call it quits.

It turned out that this experience had had the desired effect on Murdoch. Being physically active had helped to distract him from his debilitating thoughts and brought out a side to him that Brackenreid had only seen once before, when they boxed each other. Murdoch had enjoyed himself so much and been so oblivious to how others were reacting to his skills that he had asked to tag along at next weeks match. Brackenreid of course had to grant him access. And so it was that Murdoch was present at the next several games, as was someone else, someone that Murdoch was unaware of because he was so intent on his strategies.

By the time they had played for a month, the other members had decided to embrace Murdoch as one of their own (at least this was true for the ones on his side). It became increasingly difficult to find willing participants to play against him. One week the other team didn't even show up. With nothing else to focus on, Murdoch noticed the stranger on the park bench watching him for the first time.

Brackenreid looked where his friend was so intently gazing and couldn't help but smirk a bit. The woman was a pretty little thing, with locks of brown hair tied up expertly and a blood red dress draped snugly against her elegant frame. Brackenreid had noticed her there every game since Murdoch had started playing but for some reason she had never once approached the fellow. Maybe she was as shy as he was in these sorts of matters? Or maybe she was more old fashioned and thought it the man's job to make the first acquaintance. Brackenreid expected he would have to frog march the poor bastard over there like he did with Susie but it was not to be, Murdoch confidently strode on up to her and struck up a conversation. From what the inspector could see, it was all smiles and laughs and his heart was glad for him.

On a slightly more selfish note, Brackenreid hoped this woman would cause Murdoch to not need Rugby as a distraction anymore. Then their games could go back to the way they used to be. By the looks of things, he thought this to be a very real possibility, for at that very moment, Murdoch had offered her his arm and they were strolling away down the pebbled pathway.

A few days later when Brackenreid saw that Murdoch had renewed spirits, and there was a lull in case work, he entered his office and asked him about her.

Without a trace of embarrassment he eagerly dived into the topic.

"Her name is Liza Milner, she's a school teacher and extremely well read. She too is Roman Catholic and goes to church every Sunday. Apparently she goes to the same church as me but somehow we've never noticed each other before. I think this is understandable though because she only moved here a few months ago from Niagara Falls.

He paused and Brackenreid tried to commiserate with him. "Of cour-"

"Liza considers personal fitness to be very important and walks five kilometres every morning before she goes to school." Murdoch smiled and said, "One time she was up so early that she came across a raccoon!" He laughed and shook his head. "A raccoon, sir!"

Brackenreid smiled hesitatingly at that and then said, "She sounds like a fine lady, Murdoch. I'm glad you found each other."

"As am I, sir, as am I."


	11. The End is Nigh

Just when Brackenreid thought everything was finally falling into place - (Bobby had become much more docile, Margaret had let up on his drinking at home, Murdoch was more efficient than ever) - he learned that Margaret was pregnant again. And just like the last time, she became an unpredictable element that could be set off at the least provocation. Therefore he had to tip toe around the house and try to stay out of her way as much as possible. This was a doable but tedious process, and it wasn't something he particularly wanted to do after a long days work. But he persevered like the last time, like he always did, and on June 27th, 1891, at 8:34 at night, John was born. The boy was just as precious as the last one and once again Brackenreid knew he would always be there for him, to support him in this increasingly chaotic world. He should know, he was usually at the forefront of the next grizzly murder that the city of Toronto had to offer. The ways, and more specifically, the reasons for these killings never ceased to amaze him. Sometimes they were over the most trivial of things, like the deceased called his killer a wanker or the killer didn't like the service they provided at a restaurant. With such flimsy rationalities as these, he grew more and more fearful that something would happen to his wife and children at any given moment. At one point, he even tried to get a constable to tail them whenever they left the house just to make sure nothing would happen to them. Of course, like always, Margaret caught on to this ploy and demanded he put a stop to this treatment. However well meaning he was, there were almost certainly better uses the constable could be put to. And of course, like always, Brackenreid bent to her wishes.

Only a few weeks after this debacle, his wife and kids were out doing some shopping and were almost run over by an inconsiderate carriage driver. Understandably this shook Margaret up quite a deal so that when Brackenreid learned of this, he wanted to hunt the bastard down and kill him. Margaret calmed him down and prevented him from doing anything so rash telling him, 'That's life, dear, it's messy and unpredictable and you never know what's around the next corner. The best we can do is to keep our heads high and hope for the best.' In typical Brackrenreid fashion, he grunted, stormed out of the room and poured himself a drink. And that was the end of that.

That is until a few months later when a young girl was killed during a similar occurrence. Without listening to his story first, Brackenreid roughed the man up soundly, his black gloves glistening with blood by the time he was through with him. When Murdoch stopped him and they finally let the man speak, they learned that he was prone to seizures and that's why he lost control of the carriage. As far as Brackenreid was concerned, that wasn't a good enough excuse for stealing the life away of such a young, innocent child. In fact, if that was the case, he shouldn't have been operating the bloody thing in the first place! He was going to hang for his crimes, Brackenreid would make sure of it.

* * *

On a much more happier note, Murdoch's relationship with Liza had blossomed into a full fledged romance. When Murdoch wasn't at work, he was courting her (or working on another contraption but that's beside the point). Every time Liza stopped by his office to meet him for lunch or whenever they double dated with The Brackenreids, the inspector couldn't help but feel a little envious. They always seemed to have such a perfect relationship. There was never any yelling or arguments, and they were forever smiling. So it came as no surprise to Brackenreid when the following conversation unfolded between him and Murdoch.

"Sir," he said knocking on his office door, "Could I have a word?"

"Of course, Murdoch." Murdoch closed the door behind him. Whenever he did that, Brackenreid knew the topic was of a serious nature so he put his pen down and gave him his full attention. It was then that he noticed just how anxious Murdoch appeared to be and he braced himself for what was to come. He folded his hands in his lap and waited. When Murdoch didn't say anything he said, "What's on your mind, me old mucker?"

"Well," Murdoch said ringing his own hands together, "I, uh, I, um, well..."

Brackenreid had never heard Murdoch stutter like this and it was a bit alarming. He stood up and went over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Murdoch nodded, gulped and then blurted out, "Iplantoproposetolizatonight!"

"How about you try that again, Murdoch?"

He took a few steadying breaths and said, "I plan to propose to Liza tonight!"

"Good on you, mate!" exclaimed Brackenreid, slapping him on the back. "It's about bloody time!"

Murdoch seemed flabbergasted by this response. "Do you-do you really think so, sir?"

Brackenreid laughed and said, "Absolutely, Murdoch! She'd be lucky to have you!"

These words seemed to have the desired effect and Murdoch visibly relaxed (as relaxed as he ever looked) and he even smiled a bit. Murdoch shook hands with Brackenreid saying, "Thank you, sir. You don't know how much your support means to me."

What he meant by this was how he thought of Brackenreid as a father figure, as the father he had never had but always wanted. Sure the inspector was only about seven years older than him and he drank quite a bit but it didn't seem to affect him in a negative way, unlike his own terrifying father, who in a drunken rage had killed his mother when he was just eleven years old.

After that he had been shipped off to New Brunswick to be raised by Jesuit Priests. There had been one priest in particular who had acted as his mentor and was a large part of the man he was today, but Murdoch hadn't seen him in years, so it was nice to have a physical fatherly presence whenever he needed it. And this was just such a time. With Brackenreid's blessing, Murdoch was convinced Liza would say yes and his future would be one of eternal bliss.

* * *

It was April 3rd, 1892 when he first met her. She had come into his office bright and early that morning and shook his hand like a confident man would, with a strong, firm grasp that lasted just the right length of time. As unusual as that was, the strangeness of the situation lay more in what she had said _while_ she was doing this. She claimed to be the new pathologist! It was hard to believe that such a thing was the case but he had been phoned only a short while ago by the old coroner to inform him that his replacement, a Dr. Ogden would be coming to meet him soon, and that was the same name she had just used!

Needless to say her presence had caused the men to become curious (all except for Murdoch) and they had not so subtly started staring into the room.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "Excuse me just one second, doctor." He opened the door and yelled, "Get back to work you lousy bunch of hooligans!" They all jumped at his commanding voice and attended to their duties once more. "I'm sorry about that," he said as he closed the door again.

"It's quite all right, inspector," she said slightly amused, her voice accented in such a way that it was hard to place its origins. "I'm used to such occurrences."

"I can imagine," he said. "Care for a cup of tea?"

"No thank you, inspector, I won't be staying long."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "Do you mind?" he asked gesturing to his personal bar.

"Not at all but I feel it is my duty to inform you that too much alcohol can affect your liver over time and even possibly kill you. I should know, I've seen the phenomenon many times in my studies."

"I'll take that under advisement," he muttered, not planning to in the slightest, having heard the same thing many times from Murdoch. This supposed disease was called Cirrhosis of the liver or something like that. He wasn't sure it existed. After all, his father had been a heavy drinker and was still alive today (as far as he knew anyway).

As Brackenreid poured himself a drink he said, "Tell me doctor, why would an obviously high born woman such as yourself want such a gruesome job?"

He turned to face her as she responded. "To be honest, I've never much cared for high society. I much prefer to be out in the world, making a difference, in whatever way I can."

Brackenreid smiled a little and said, "A woman after my own heart. But you still haven't answered my question. Out of all possible professions, you chose what in my mind, must be one of the least favourable ones."

She smiled and said, "In _your_ mind, maybe, but to me there is little else more worthwhile than speaking for those who no longer can. If I can bring peace to even one person, I'll consider my work done."

"I certainly hope not," he said smirking and she laughed a little high pitched giggle that seemed uncharacteristic given the rest of her personality. He considered her thoughtfully for a moment and then in a more serious tone said,"Listen doctor, if any of the lads give you a hard time, just let me know and I'll sort it out."

"I appreciate the sentiment, inspector but it is highly unwarranted. I'm quite capable of handling myself." Brackenreid grinned at that. "Well, I must be going now," she said, shaking his hand again, "As I understand it, there's already a body waiting for me." She headed towards the door, stopped and without turning around said, "Thank you for being so accepting of me, inspector. Not many men would...or have."

He chuckled to himself and said, "A few years ago, I would have been like those other men... but things are different now."

Julia turned around but didn't say anything.

Brackenreid smiled and said, "You can thank my wife for never underestimating a woman's intellect ever again."

Julia flashed him a brief smile and said, "I shall like to meet her someday," and then headed out the door.

Whatever misgivings (if indeed there were any) Brackenreid had about a woman pathologist were quickly allayed when he witnessed the quality of work she produced. In many ways she was even more useful than Jeeves (the previous coroner) because she worked so well with Murdoch. The two just seemed to click and shared a love of cutting edge science that helped them determine things Brackenreid never dreamed possible. So it was that the solved murder rate for station house number four increased even more, making them by far the most successful of the houses and garnering them front page stories in the Gazette (though sometimes Brackenreid wondered if this had more to do with the fact that a woman was working there than anything else, based on the way the articles were written).

* * *

In November of that same year, three terrible events closely followed each other. The first concerned The Brackenreid's intimately. Margaret had become pregnant again but it wasn't long before it became clear that something was amiss. She would suffer excruciating pains for no apparent reason but stubbornly she refused to go to the doctor, probably not wanting to appear weak. Brackenreid came home one night to find Margaret lying on the floor with a large pool of blood by her legs. At first he thought the worst, but then she stirred feebly and he rushed to her side.

"I think the babies gone," she whispered and then cried into his shoulder for a very long time. Afterwards and regardless of her protests, he scooped her up and took her to the doctor. He confirmed their worst fears, she had had a miscarriage. He told her to consume some sugary foods in order to keep her blood sugar level normal but other than that, she simply had to rest until she was fully recovered from the ordeal. For a long time following this, Margaret was horribly depressed and Brackenreid did his best to comfort her but it was never enough. And it was no help at all when the next horrific thing happened.

Liza had developed a hacking cough that had Murdoch quite worried. His worry intensified to the extreme when he noticed flecks of dried blood dotting her handkerchief. He had a good idea of what that meant but refused to believe it.

"Why did you not tell me about this sooner?" he demanded of her.

"I'm sorry, William," she said looking away, embarrassed. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Liza!" he exclaimed. "Come!" he said grabbing her arm, "you will get a checkup right this instant!"

She looked extremely guilty when she next spoke. "I've already been to the doctor."

"_And_?" he asked impatiently. "What did Doctor Faraday say?"

Liza tried to hold back her tears but it was no use. "He told me I have consumption."

Murdoch felt like the world had ended and he would never be happy again. The next instant he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and sprung into action again.

"You are going to get a second opinion!"

He trudged Liza to the morgue. Julia was in the middle of an autopsy but when she saw his expression, she dropped what she was doing, and quickly cleaned up as he explained the situation.

"Forgive me, doctor," he said louder than normal because he was so frazzled, "but Liza requires immediate medical attention!" Then he released her arm and took Julia aside so that his fiancee couldn't hear. "I fear she has consumption. I pray to God you find this not to be the case."

"Oh William," Julia said softly, "I'm so sorry."

Murdoch nodded, went back over to Liza's side and waited for Julia to find her stethoscope. He was getting very ticked off at how long it was taking but in Julia's defence, she really didn't have a use for it in her daily practice. Finally she found it and she beckoned them over to her office and away from any potential passersby.

"I'm going to need you to remove your blouse, Liza." Without hesitation she did as she was told. "Now this may be a bit cold to the touch but that's perfectly normal."

Julia placed the stethoscope to Liza's chest and told her to cough. After a few more times, there was no denying the ugly truth. Liza was afflicted with a disease that had no cure! She looked up into William's eyes and he cried out, knowing full well what her looks meant.

The third event that took place was also the most tragic. Sam Watson had been gunned down outside his home one evening. Needless to say, this had Brackenreid in utter shambles and thirsty for blood. A man hunt ensued and after many hours of searching, they caught the bastard. Brackenreid's wrath was something terrible to behold. He beat the young man to within an inch of his life before the lad's pulled him off him. Days later, after he had recovered sufficiently enough to talk, they discovered the reason for the slaying. Apparently this young man was the son of the man that Brackenreid had gotten hung for running the little girl over. The intoxicated son had thought Watson was the person responsible for his fathers demise. This was because Brackenreid looked somewhat similar, and especially in the dark, Watson had appeared to be the man the distraught son had seen in court over a year ago.

Brackenreid would be forever shattered by this revelation and his alcoholism reared its ugly head again. And since Murdoch was continually dreading the inevitable conclusion to Liza's condition, he too was an utter mess. Even though it was just these two men who were experiencing personal tragedies, the entire station house seemed to be affected by their dour moods. Likely this had something to do with their strong presences. But it wasn't just their moods that was the problem, they weren't performing their duties the way they were supposed to. If things continued to deteriorate in this way, station house four was liable to be run into the ground. Stockton became aware of the situation and paid Brackenreid a visit. If he didn't shape up, he would be replaced, it was that simple. Brackenreid couldn't afford to lose his job, not when he was attempting to help support Watson's widow and child on top of his own family (it was his way of attempting to deal with survivor's guilt, something he hoped to never experience again after the war). So it was that not long after that, he disposed of his booze and got his act together. He did his best to help Murdoch but had less success with him than he did himself. And it was completely understandable. For Brackenreid, the horrific events were in the past, for Murdoch, there was always a daily reminder. It didn't help that Liza seemed to be getting a little worse every day.

By September of 1893, she had become an invalid and had lost so much weight that she appeared almost skeletal. It was only a matter of time now...


	12. Everything In Its Right Place

Murdoch was like a crazed lunatic, frantically pouring through any and all medical journals he could get his hands on that even remotely applied to consumption. He was desperate to find a cure, even just a semblance of one _somewhere_. But it was not to be, scientists still did not fully understand what caused it and because of this, it was impossible to treat. Recently they had learned that it was transmitted via the air, a possible contagion like the black plague but far less potent. And even in her weakened state, Liza had somehow become aware of this information as well and refused to let Murdoch come near her. She couldn't bear it if she got him sick too so she had imposed a self quarantine. Needless to say this didn't help matters at all. If Liza shut herself off from the world, it was as if her struggle was over, as if she had given up hope of ever getting better. In essence, it was her way of saying goodbye and Murdoch simply couldn't handle that idea. As a result he was pushed over the edge and he began working tirelessly on a way to cure her himself.

At one point he didn't show up to work for several days and the inspector felt compelled to check up on him. When Murdoch didn't answer the door, he got Ms. Kitchen to open it for him. She had been extremely worried about him as well because she had heard him yelling frequently, something he had never done before. The other tenants had begun to complain about the racket and if Brackenreid hadn't shown up when he did, she would have been forced to bring the police into this mess regardless of how fond she had grown of Murdoch. What they found was startling and Ms. Kitchen gasped. Murdoch was passed out on his bed, clothing, papers and whiskey bottles strewn all over the room; it was a veritable pig sty (with the smell to boot) and quite unlike the orderly man Brackenreid had come to admire. A microscope sat on his filthy desk and though Brackenreid didn't know it, there was a tissue sample sitting there from someone else with consumption that Murdoch had studied over and over again. There was also a large black board wedged into his tiny apartment and it was covered with all sorts of formulae and thought processes that Brackenreid couldn't even begin to comprehend. But he knew enough to know this was all about Liza.

"Murdoch," he said loudly, shaking his shoulder. There was no response. "Murdoch!" he boomed, shaking him more forcefully.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the once majestic detective opened his eyes. They were blood shot and confused looking. The confusion quickly gave way to despair as he glanced at the black board once more.

"Are you all right?" asked Brackenreid.

In response, Murdoch put his hands in his already tousled hair and messed it up even more. Under different circumstances, the way his hair was standing up on end would have been comical. Right now it was heartbreaking. "It's no use!" he cried, words slurred and tinged with the stink of alcohol. "It's no use! I can't do it! I don't know how!" His voice broke and he whispered, "I've failed her. It's over."

Brackenreid didn't know what to say to that but felt that he had to say something. "Murdoch," he said cautiously, "why don't you come with me and we'll get you something to eat? Ms. Kitchen would love to cook you a meal, isn't that right?"

"Absolutely," she said entering the room on tip toes in order to not step on anything. This proved to be a fruitless endeavour and she quickly gave it up. She touched Murdoch's shoulder in a hesitating manner and he flinched, as if just realizing they were in the room.

"Ms. Kitchen?" he asked quizzically, eyes focusing on her lined face. She smiled at him. "Sir?"

Brackenreid nodded and said, "Come on, Murdoch, let's get you out of here."

He took Murdoch's arm and helped him stand upright. It was necessary to keep doing this as he was unsteady on his feet. Brackenreid slung one of Murdoch's arms over his shoulder and supported him this way all the way down the stairs to where the kitchen was. Ms. Kitchen got to work. While she was preparing some eggs and toast, the two men sat across from each other, staring at one another in silence. Finally Murdoch broke the silence.

"Sir-" he began.

"It's all right, me old mucker. You don't have to explain yourself to me." A short pause. "But you do need help. But we can wait a bit for that. Let's just take one step at a time."

Murdoch nodded once, thankful for this brief reprieve from his deplorable behaviour.

With that, the food was served. At first the smell repulsed him but then his digestive system kicked in and he realized just how hungry he truly was. As he dug in, he tried to remember the last time he had eaten but couldn't. As far as he could tell, he had subsisted on alcohol and extreme melancholy for the past several days and that was it.

Once he finished that food, he was still hungry so his land lady happily fried him up some beans and sausages. After that was consumed, Murdoch puked all over the place. Ms. Kitchen brought him a bucket which was fortunate because he continued to throw up for another twenty minutes. Apparently he had over done it a bit on the drinking. It was after this disgusting display that he began to feel like his old self again, having purged some of the built up toxins in his system.

However, as an added precaution, Brackenreid made Murdoch stay with his family for several days so that Margaret could keep an eye on him (by this point she had been back to her feisty self for many months). That first day they even called Julia in so that she could take a look at him and make sure he hadn't done any permanent damage to himself. This was more for piece of mind than anything else, (Brackenreid didn't really think Murdoch wouldn't fully recover but he wasn't willing to take any chances, not after losing his close friend).

Julia pronounced that he would be perfectly fine once the alcohol was out of his system completely and everyone present was glad. Before she left, Murdoch muttered something about wishing he could see Liza. It was then that the truth came out.

"William," Julia said anxiously, twisting the end of her braid, "I must confess something to you." He stared at her uncomprehending. "It was I who told Liza about the infectious aspect of consumption."

"You _what?_!" shouted Murdoch, furious. "How _dare_ you presume to insert yourself in my affairs! You had no right!"

Margaret took Brackenreid by the hand and led him out of the room. This was none of their business, she whispered as they left. Neither of them noticed their departure.

Despite herself, she couldn't help but respond in a forceful manner. "I believe I did. I believe it was my duty as a doctor to inform my patient (Julia had taken over Faraday's role) of the hazards of her disease."

Murdoch laughed without mirth and continued to yell. "Strange then that you are still seeing her every day! I haven't been able to for weeks!"

"She's my patient, William, I can't just abandon her. Someone has to take care of her."

"Yes and that someone should be me!"

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible," Julia said sadly. "She flat out refuses to let you near her and I intend to listen to her wishes."

"But why?" he demanded. "Why can't it be me?"

"You know why," she said quietly, looking away. "She's in love with you, William. Wouldn't you do whatever was necessary to protect that which you cherish the most?"

Murdoch had no response to this other than to openly weep. Julia put her arms around him for the first time and let him cry on her shoulder for several minutes.

When that was over with he said, "I'm sorry, Julia. I-"

"Never mind that, William. I quite understand."

* * *

Since Murdoch wasn't physically allowed to be near her, he would write her short letters everyday, telling her about his day and doing his best to take her mind off the pain. After awhile this simply wasn't enough and he had to see her in person. So it was that he began sneaking into her place at night when Julia wasn't there and visiting her. Liza protested at first but then Murdoch reasoned that if he was going to have gotten sick, it would have happened by now. It was then that he learned yet another reason for her not wanting him near her. When she was gone, he didn't want his only memories of her to be in such a fragile state. He told her he didn't care about that, he would be by her side from now on and that was that. From then on out, he no longer had to sneak around and was allowed to visit her whenever she was up to seeing him (which became less and less frequent as her disease progressed).

If one thing could be said about Liza it was that she was a fighter. Everyone had expected her to die a long time ago but somehow she was still kicking. Some would say later that it was their ardent love for each other that kept her going so long, that they refused to let go and it was this intangible yet strong bond that kept her among the living. Whatever the reason was, it ceased to matter on April 19th, 1894. Sensing that the end was near, Julia had called him up and told him that it was time to say goodbye, and then just like that, it was all over.

The funeral took place two days later and Murdoch was forever hardened from this experience (at least until someone broke through his shell once more).

* * *

A few months later when Murdoch still had not even begun to cope with the loss of his fiancee because it was far too painful and he didn't want to go down that road again, a new face appeared at the precinct. He was a young man with short brown hair and a gung-ho personality. Murdoch soon learned that his name was George Crabtree after the constable barged into his office without knocking and introduced himself. It wasn't long after that that he discovered George had an extremely active imagination and was somewhat out of touch with reality. And that he loved to tell stories about his many aunts. This was all within just five minutes of their acquaintance and Murdoch couldn't take it any longer. In his happier days, he probably would have just ignored him but since his temperament had never been the same after his loss, he simply couldn't. He sternly told the constable to leave and to never interrupt him again. George seemed taken aback by this response but quickly complied with his request.

Brackenreid had been out getting the newspaper when this confrontation had occurred. When he came back, Murdoch stormed into his office and complained about the new constable.

"His head is full of nonsense, sir!" he said angrily. "He is not fit to work here!"

Brackenreid raised his eyebrows and chuckled a little, knowing full well what he meant. The lad had got on his nerves as well when he met him the other day during training but he wasn't about to let Murdoch know this. "The lad seems to have made quite the impression on you, Murdoch." He smirked, "A bad one, but an impression nonetheless."

"Do you think this funny?" he asked, extremely annoyed, strongly reminding Brackenreid of Stockton all those years ago when he had been late to work. Brackenreid never thought he would compare the two men and it was an upsetting connection to say the least. It was then that he realized just how far gone Murdoch was. He would frequently snap at the smallest provocation and because of this, most of the men had taken to avoiding him at all costs. Something had to change and soon or even Brackenreid wouldn't be able to justify keeping him in his position. The constabulary was like a well oiled train engine; if one part wore out, it would no longer function properly and you'd become stranded out in the middle of nowhere. As hard as it was to admit to himself, Murdoch was that broken piece. It was high time for a tune up.

"Absolutely Murdoch...and I wish you would too." Murdoch glared at him and Brackenreid sighed. "You need to loosen up a bit and stop taking everything so bloody serious! It'd do you a world of good."

"What do _you_ know?" muttered Murdoch bitterly.

"A great deal, me old mucker. You have no idea how many men, how many _good_ men I lost on the battlefield. I was a mess. It was too painful to face reality so I dulled my senses with drink. I did this for _years_, Murdoch. Hell, I sometimes _still_ do this." He was silent for a moment as his thoughts drifted to Sam. "But I got through it somehow, and you will too. But you have to be willing to make the effort." Murdoch didn't respond and just looked away. Brackenreid sighed again and said, "If you can't sort your issues out Murdoch I'm afraid I'll have to suspend you."

"That is completely unjustified!" he exploded. "I've been solving all my cases! You have no right to get rid of me!"

Brackenreid's voice took on a hard edge as he responded. "In case you hadn't noticed, Murdoch, you've become quite the terror around here and I can't abide that any longer."

_That's my job._

For a third time he sighed, "Maybe it's my fault. I shouldn't have let you come back to work so soon after. Maybe it's for the best that you take some time off now."

"You can't do that!" Murdoch said desperately. "I _need_ this."

What he meant by that was that without his mind constantly employed on a new puzzle, his thoughts would inevitably find their old familiar haunting ground and it was enough to drive him insane. Nights were the worst and he often had to drink himself to sleep in order to get any rest. He feared what would happen to him if he had nothing to occupy himself with all day long too.

Brackenreid closely observed his friend for a few seconds and said, "Fine, you can stay." Murdoch released a huge sigh of relief a little too early. "On one condition. I'm going to place Crabtree under your charge and-" Murdoch tried to say something but Brackenreid steam rolled ahead, speaking over him, "and if you can prove to me that you're still a team player, I'll let you stay on. Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to relieve you of your badge...at least temporarily that is. So it's up to you now Murdoch. I hope you can find your way back to the man you used to be. Just know I'm always here for you if you need to talk. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

And so it was that Murdoch was forced to work with Crabtree. It was like trying to make a tempestuous blizzard bow to every frolicking whim of a pleasantly jabbering monkey. In other words, their first few days together were utter disasters. Every time George made a mistake or didn't know how to do something that Murdoch considered child's play, he would freeze the little guy with icy stares and tell him that he was incompetent (or worse), making him leave the room (or wherever they were) so that Murdoch could work in peace.

At the end of those days, Brackenreid called both of them into his office for an update.

"So Crabtree, how has the detective been treating you?"

George glanced sideways at an impassive Murdoch. "Very well, sir."

Brackenreid raised his eyebrows at that. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

The inspector looked at him suspiciously. "I've heard conflicting reports from the other constables, Crabtree. Are you sure you're being completely honest with me?"

"I'm sure, sir."

"All right," said Brackenreid, shrugging, "I guess it's back to work with you lot then."

As soon as they were out of earshot Murdoch said, "Why did you lie constable?"

George smiled sheepishly and said, "I heard what happened to you, sir...and I wanted to help out as much as possible. If you need a punching bag for awhile longer, I'll gladly fill that role. Whatever helps you get through this tough time."

What he said made Murdoch feel terrible. Here was this man, this bright young man that he had repeatedly harassed and treated like an imbecile; who was barely an acquaintance and didn't owe him anything; and yet was full of so much compassion that he was selflessly offering himself up like a human sacrifice in order to appease the Gods. In that instant, Murdoch made the conscious decision to turn his life around. And once that happened, it was only a matter of time before he was back to his old self. From that day forward, he swore he would never get openly agitated with George ever again (though sometimes this was easier said than done) so that by all appearances, they were such a content, efficient partnership, that even Brackenreid got a little jealous of from time to time.

But even George and Murdoch's relationship was nothing to that of his and the doctors, so much so that Brackenreid felt like he didn't really serve a purpose at the crime scenes anymore. Murdoch and Julia would squat down beside each other, by the body, and converse in a conspiratorial manner, as if he wasn't even present. Whenever he made himself known by asking a question, they seemed surprised that he was there, as if he were intruding on an intimate moment. But he didn't take it to heart too much. He was just happy that Murdoch was happy. If that process required him to step out from time to time, then so be it. He had his own family to be a part of whenever he felt lonely, which is just the way it was supposed to be.

Another year went by and it was as if they had all become one big, happy, eccentric family, who liked spending a lot of time around dead bodies and killers for the fun of it. Brackenreid felt like everything had _finally_ fallen into place and he was glad.

What a wonderful life, he thought gleefully.

The phone rang then.

Bloody hell, he thought as he listened to what was said.

He put on his coat and hat, grabbed his cane and headed to the electricity fiasco.

* * *

**Author's Note**: **Hope you guys enjoyed this epic saga. It was a lot of fun to write (most of the time). Thanks for reading and I hope you have/had a Merry Christmas or a Happy Hannukah or whatever you celebrate (if anything). I guess I should wish a Happy New Year here too. Here's hoping S6 is da bomb!**


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